Huzrah Zeymah Ahrk Briinah
by Duroflo
Summary: Follow the Dovahkiin on her quest against Alduin. Follow the assassin as she searches for her lost memories, and follow the Companion, as she runs from her past. T, but only because I'm paranoid, and don't want anyone to see anything they shouldn't.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Alright, the new chapter one (If you didn't know, the first and fourth chapters disappeared entirely for no apparent reason). Hope its better than I thought it was.

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><p>Chapter One<p>

**1st of Second Seed, 4E 205**

The Khajiit was rudely awakened by the wagon hitting a rock and bumping all over the place, jostling her out of sleep. She grumbled under her breath and shifted her weight off her sore tail, it was screaming at her for having sat on it for so long. Still grumbling to herself about the rudeness of Imperials, (she had only been trying to get from Cyrodiil to Skyrim... while being pursued by guards) she opened her eyes and shook the sleep away. A few moments after, she wished she had just fallen back asleep. A terrible cold breeze swept through the threadbare tunic she wore and chilled her. Not as badly as it would if she didn't have fur, like the blond man across from her, but it was still a bitter wind. Shivering slightly, she tried to wrap her arms around her midsection and growled to herself when pain burst in her wrists. She looked down and was unsurprised to find them tied, rather tightly. She huffed and, still cold, huddled down to wait during what would most likely be a long ride.

The cat sniffed and instantly wished she hadn't. The stench of mead and a different kind of mead, and ale, along with lots of furs filled her nostrils, so the three men she was with were Nords. Fascinating. Now, the Khajiit held no true malice towards the Nords - she had, after all, been trying to get to Skyrim - rather, it was their smell that she disliked so. They all smelled like mead. And not just any kind of mead, but the mead that they made. From her experience it was made with anything they had that sounded like it would be good in mead. Also according to her experience, they were the only ones that could stand it. Absently, her thoughts turned to the one time she had _actually _met and liked a Nord, whilst her gaze turned down to the boards of the wagon floor.

"Hey you, you're finally awake."

A soft, though Nordic, voice broke her train of thought and made her look up from her study of the floor of the wagon. The blond Nord across from her smiled. Bristar looked him up and down and immediately fancied that he was some kind of warrior and, judging by his cuirass, probably in that rebellion that had sprung up in Skyrim.

The Khajiit wasn't very well versed in what was happening in Skyrim at the time - it had been the closest border to where she had been before... _it_ happened - but she did know that there was some sort of uprising because of the terms of White-Gold Concordant, something about Talos, and a Nord named Ulfric Stormcloak was rebelling with men loyal to him.

"You were trying to cross the border, walked right into that Imperial ambush," The Khajiit's memory was still a little blurred about the ambush itself, she remembered getting hit over the head by the blunt end of a war axe, so she could blame it on the Imperial who had wielded it. "same as us and that thief over there."

Said thief cried out in indignation, she raised an eyebrow while looking him up and down. The man was a black mark against the reputation of all thieves, getting caught in an ambush. Bristar blushed under her fur when she remembered that _she_ had been caught in a ambush. So then, not a black mark, perhaps a smudge?

"If it weren't for you cursed Stormcloaks I could've stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell." Bristar flattened her ears against her skull in a vain attempt to block the grating voice of the brown haired Nord. The thief's brown eyes suddenly landed on her, she had the vague sense that he had no manners, and wouldn't be introducing himself any time soon. "You and me, we shouldn't be here, it's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."

Bristar moved her numb, tied hands up while sticking her index finger out. The thief was doing more than bother her, he was being downright rude. Calling her a 'you' without asking her name, the audacity. Her mother would be appalled if she didn't remedy it immediately.

"One, Khajiit's name is Bristar, it was given to her at her birth." She stuck up another finger. "Two, you are ill-mannered for calling Khajiit 'you'. Three, you annoy me. And four," With some difficulty she managed to stick up a fourth finger. "Khajiit is trying to make peace about her death."

The Khajiit wasn't trying to 'make peace with her death', she was too busy trying to spot ways of escape. But between her companions - whom she was sure wouldn't want to help her - and the multitude of guards around them she couldn't see how any of them would end up without her dying, or getting recaptured (a fate that was worse than death to the Khajiit, the humiliation she would suffer)

The thief, seeing that he would get no support from her, turned to the blond Nord and began to try to pester him with insults. He didn't even get a full insult out. The Nord cut in with a placating remark.

"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief."

"Quiet back there."

The driver sounded irritable. Bristar couldn't blame him. Who knew how long he had been driving in this accursed snow and cold; with naught but warm, well crafted leathers to keep him from the bitter winds. The Khajiit glared at his back ruefully, missing her beautiful leathers. She had owned the leathers for most of her 'career', they had carried her through thick and thin, the highs and the lows. Unfortunately, it had acquired a nasty rip in it, she couldn't even remember how, so she had been obliged to fix it. Fortunately, there had been a town close by. Alas, they had posted her wanted poster up on a tree by the blacksmith. Suffice it to say, she had been rather happy to leave that town, even though she had been sad to see her leathers go unfixed.

The silence that had allowed her to mourn the loss of her leathers didn't stretch on as long as she would have liked, and it was the thief that broke it.

"What is his problem?"

"Watch your tongue." The previously calm Nord snapped, anger flashing in his blue eyes. "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King."

Ah, so that was who their gagged friend was, it certainly explained why there were so many guards around their wagon. Bristar glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and wasn't impressed. Though, that could be because she hadn't heard of any of his accomplishments. She doubted that it would make any difference, anyone that wore feathers on their cloak was a madman, didn't they know how quickly those things lit up? One spark and they were gone, or at least their cloak would be gone, and their skin would be singed. She shuddered at the memory.

"Ulfric Stormcloak!" The thief exclaimed, staring at the 'True High King' in horror. "If they have you then, oh gods, where are they taking us?"

"I don't know what lies ahead, but Sovngarde awaits."

Bristar bowed her head at the mention of the Nords' soul halls. A heavy silence fell on the wagon, the two Nords quiet after the mention of Sovngarde, making their peace with their gods. Never one to be deterred from thoughts of escape, the Khajiit looked ahead a moment and could see the gates of a town up ahead. Helgen, if that sign she had seen a few leagues back was correct. The first wagon of their caravan reached it and the wood gates opened to let them in. A rider trailing beside them kicked his horse into a gallop and rushed ahead, probably to let the headsman know that he would be needed or some such thing.

It didn't take their wagon long to reach the gates and pass through them. Bristar had a sinking feeling in her stomach, there was no way she could escape now. Under her gaze, the rider that had gone ahead trotted back and over to a white haired, heavily armored Imperial mounted in front of a group of three High Elves.

"General Tulius sir," The rider called, his horse dancing in a circle. "the headsman is waiting."

"Divines," The brown haired Nord pleaded at the proclamation. "help us."

"Looks like the Thalmor are with the General, cursed elves. Bet they had something to do with this."

Bristar perked up at the word 'bet'. She was an incorrigible bettor, and if there was mischief to be had and money to be made, then she was there. If she knew more about the Thalmor - and the Nord - then she would bet, if only to get some amusement out of her possibly last escapade. Of all the ways she had envisioned herself dying, this had not been one of them.

"This is Helgen, I used to be sweet on a girl here. I wonder if Velod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in." The blond Nord sighed and looked up at the cloudy sky. "Strange. Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe."

"-I want to watch the soldiers."

Bristar twisted at the sound of the childish voice and felt something in her sink. A little Nord boy of no more than eight sat on the steps of his house, watching wide eyed as the wagons and soldier formations passed by.

"Go inside little cub," The gentle voice of a concerned father commanded. "help your mother with supper."

Grudgingly, the child stood and ran into the house, much to the relief of the boy's father and the Khajiit alike. She remembered growing up too soon when the executions began in her own village back in Elsweyr, no other children should go through that. The wagons came to a stumbling halt, nearly throwing her off balance and into the gagged 'High King'.

"End of the line." The blue-eyed Nord muttered to himself.

Awkwardly, Bristar hopped down to the ground, snapping her tail back and forth to keep her balance. Her leg muscles threatened to give out, but she managed to stay on her feet. Exposed from all sides to the wind, her bole***** colored fur stuck up on her arms and neck and anywhere that the wind touched.

"When we call your name, step forward."

A woman's voice ordered, obviously expecting to be obeyed. Bristar sighed and worried the ropes around her wrists, a feat which only served to aggravate the already raw skin there, she had probably lost a lot of fur, and would bleed before she got to the block.

"Empire loves their cursed lists." The Nord next to her muttered, glaring openly at the Nord in front of them holding said list. He glared back, clutching the list lightly in his fist, the quill he held shaking angrily. There was some past between them, she was sure of it.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm."

The Nord made a mark on the list and looked up as the 'True High King' walked over to the block. Her companion watched him go a moment before calling out his gratitude for being allowed to serve the Jarl in his rebellion, something about it being an honor. Bristar didn't notice, she was too busy watching the horror playing out before her.

"Lokir of Rorikstead."

The thief stepped forward shakily and pleaded with his captors.

"I'm innocent, I haven't done anything." Lokir's eyes darted to the left and the right before he dashed forward back towards the gates. It was futile, Bristar knew, she had heard them close the gates behind the other wagons. "You can't catch me."

"Archers."

The Khajiit flinched when the arrows thudded into Lokir's body. She might not have had any attachment for like for the thief, but he was still a fellow thief. And thieves looked out for other thieves. Her frozen fingers twitched, and she was starting to miss having even an empty scabbard at her side.

"Ralof of Riverwood."

Her Nord companion stepped forward and strode past the Nord list holder, head held high, ignoring the other Nord.

"Step forward cat."

Ears flattened against her skull, she glared at the Imperial captain, if she ever had the chance, she would harm the woman just for calling her a cat. From anyone else, she would be able to ignore it, she was after all a Khajiit, and Khajiit were cats. However, the woman's voice aggravated her, and her execution side manners could use some work.

"Who are you?"

The Nord with the list asked absentmindedly, he was still watching Ralof as the other Nord mixed with the Stormcloaks waiting for their deaths.

"Bristar," As an afterthought she added. "of Elsweyr."

"We'll make sure to send your remains back to Elsweyr."

She grumbled about how automatic his response had been while she walked over to join the small crowd around the executions block. Strangely, no sense of dread filled her as the first prisoner was led to the block, rather, she felt a sort of foreboding. A sense that something worse than death was going to happen, something that would change her fate, along with Skyrim's. She didn't like it, it sounded too serious for her, she purposefully avoided seriousness.

The roar of some wild beast halted the execution, it was a sound she had never heard before, and she couldn't think of any comparisons to better help her imagine the beast that had made it. Her Imperial captors puzzled for a moment on it before continuing their execution.

Bristar looked away with a flinch, her stomach dropping at the sound of the axe connecting with the brave soldier's neck.

"Next, the Khajiit."

It took Bristar a brief moment to realize that she was the only Khajiit there, but once she had, she stepped forward with a spring in her step. Without waiting for the Imperial captain to push her to her knees - as the rude woman had with the first - she kneeled down and leaned forward, her cheek sitting in the still warm blood. Dread finally slid down her spine as the executioner raised his axe over his head. The Khajiit felt like she should be shutting her eyes, but she couldn't help but stare in fascination as a winged beast landed ungracefully on the tower behind the executioner.

It was a huge beast, with scales and wings and teeth. And fire. As Bristar learned a few moments after it had landed. Terrible words left its mouth and fire sizzled just over her back. Her self preservation kicked in a moment later and she tried to leap to the side, belatedly remembering that her wrists were tied. She stumbled to her side with a cry of pain and closed her ears to more of those words.

"Hey, Khajiit, get up and over here."

The familiar voice brought some semblance of awareness to her surroundings, she looked up and stumbled to her feet, biting back a cry of pain as slightly burnt skin stretched. Bristar looked to her right at the blond Nord, his name having slipped her mind in the excitement. Barely aware of the surrounding chaos, she lurched after the Nord. Her steps were like a drunkard's, and the ground swam beneath her eyes.

"Hurry!"

The Nord shouted, pointing with his unbound hands at something behind her. Thoughts briefly turning to the unfairness of him having his hands unbound while she had hers tied, she leaped forward and tucked into a roll. Tthe door of the tower slamming shut behind her just in time to catch some sort of attack from the dragon.

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><p><strong>AN: ***Bole is a reddish brown clay. Or a tree trunk, whatever floats your boat.

I'm not as satisfied with this one as I was with the last first one, but I'm not one to write two thousand words and then delete it.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:**I have discovered, that it is very easy to write a story, when most of the story-line is already laid out for you... (Have no fear, I will be tweaking!)

So, I'm not sure whether I'm supposed to capitalize the races names, but since they do it for the most part in the game, I'll do it in this story. If anyone knows more than me about it, let me know, and I'll change it.

Oh, and I'm sorry if there were any mistakes in the last chapter (or in this, for that matter), I don't have a beta, so, their all my own.

**_Raven_**_ R:_I'm not that good at rhyming either, I just randomly do it sometimes ;)

**nachosforever**: Your right! It is an 'd', thank you for pointing that out. I think that it is the Storm Call shout, I just remembered the clouds after he shouted... Ah well, I'll change the 'D' but leave the rest.

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><p>Chapter Two<p>

****1st of Sun's Height, **4E 201**

Bristar let her eyes adjust to the dark light inside the tower for a moment before looking around from her vantage point on the ground, she was fine with sitting for the moment; though she had landed awkwardly after her roll, she hadn't had her forepaws to spring herself up as she normally would have. Shifting her weight a bit to the left, she became comfortable. Breathing deeply to calm herself, she examined her tail and futilely tried to smooth down the puffed up fur on it. Giving up on it, she focused on the Nord before her, in the excitement, she seemed to have forgotten his name. She held her bound paws up to him and bowed as best as she could from her position.

"I do not believe that Khajiit and Nord have introduced themselves, yes?"

The Nord laughed and hauled her up to her feet. He steadied her for a moment before letting go.

"Ralof of Riverwood, at your service, milady."

She cleared her throat and spoke the way she normally would, her sly accent still in place, but without talking about herself in the third person.

"I am Bristar of Elsweyr, pleased to make your acquaintance, and am myself, at your service, sir."

Ralof nodded in return and turned to the man standing beside him.

"Jarl Ulfric, what does this mean? This dragon?"

"I do not know," Bristar basked in the second Nord voice she had heard that did not hurt her ears. She may not like this 'True High King', but she could at least enjoy his voice. "but it came at just the right time, no doubt if it hadn't shown up, we would all have fallen to the headsman's axe."

"Aye, milord. What do we do next?"

Ulfric didn't have to think for a second, so either he was a great hero, or had a quick mind. Or with was all part of his grand scheme to become High King. Bristar toyed with the thought for a moment before dismissing it.

"You take our friend here on ahead," She was brought out of her musing by the Jarl. "I'll stay here and help these men out, we'll meet up later."

"Yes, sire." Ralof turned to Bristar, whom had been studying the staircase whilst listening to their conversation, she could see that the Stormcloak trying to move the rocks at the top wouldn't get far, they were simply too big and heavy. "Come along, Bristar, we're getting out of here."

She didn't question him, though his optimism was getting slightly on her nerves. She trudged up the stairway behind him, continuously glancing behind her at the two soldiers and the Jarl, she couldn't help but think of him as a fool. It was better to save yourself - espesially considering the overwhelming odds - and make sure that the tale would be heard than to stay behind on what could only be a suicide mission. Just before the Khajiit and Nord reached the Stormcloak laboring at the near top, she heard a louder roar than the others and the dragon's head burst through the wall. Bristar stumbled back, pulling Ralof with her.

"Yol..."

The dragon said gutturally, a spray of fire followed after the word. The heat singed some of the hairs on her arms and lower legs, but luckily didn't hurt her or Ralof. With a roar, the dragon leaped off the building and off to wreak more rushed up to the burned soldier and shook his head.

"Looks like that dragon created our way out, see the inn?"

He didn't wait for her to give him any confirmation, while she peered out through the smoke he shoved her forward. She yowled as she fell forward, finally seeing the inn through the smoke, she landed right on the burning edge of the roof. She fell off the edge of the burning thatch roof and onto the burning floor. Propping herself on her forearms, she made it to her feet and stumbled towards a hole she could see in the floor. Amongst the smell of singed hairs, she fell through the hole and stumbled out of the inn.

"Haming, you need to get over here now."

The Imperial officer that had had the list called to a boy, he stood next to a wounded man being tended to by another, younger looking man. Bristar coughed the smoke from her lungs and looked up to the sky, unable to see it through the smoke the burning buildings made. She stumbled over to the three men, ignoring the coppery scent of blood, she kneeled next to the wounded man. While the boy, disoriented by the smoke, tried to find them, she whispered a healing spell, she could feel magicka rushing through her veins to her hands, light with no source circled around the man, lingering on his wounds, closing the deadlier cuts and burns. She wasn't a mage, and only knew some spells because her mother had seen her talent and told her that it would help her in life, since she could make herself invisible and muffle her footsteps for a brief time, good things to have when causing mischief. She peered through the smoke next to the Imperial officer, unable to see the 'Haming' boy.

"Haming, follow my voice." A note of desperation crept into the man's voice.

_How heroic, stay here and try to get the boy to come to you.  
><em>

The boy finally found the direction of their voice and came stumbling out of the smoke, just as he reached them the dragon landed and breathed flame once again. The burning building they were hiding behind took most of the fire, but crumbled just as the dragon finished its breath. Bristar stood and patted herself down, fingering her ears last, lucky that she hadn't been burnt and extremely happy to be in one piece. She looked down at the singed hair on her arms and legs sadly, running her hand over the chestnut fur peeking out among the burnt.

"If I come out of this alive I won't have an hair not singed." She muttered to herself, peering back at her blackened tail furiously. If anything, she would kill that dragon just for ruining her pride and joy, her tail. The Imperial looked around and his gaze fell on her.

"Still alive, prisoner? Follow me if you want to stay that way."

_I gave you my name. Why do humans, Nords in particular, ignore common manners?_ She grumbled to herself as she followed the Imperial across the road, glancing through the smoke to the sky in trepidation of the dragon landing again. Bristar looked back at the trio of Nords behind her, the two refused to leave their wounded father, that was the last she saw of them, before the next step she took hid them from her view. The Khajiit stumbled down steps into an alley between the wall and a half burnt building. When she stepped on the last step a terrible flash of pain jolted up her leg; she yowled and hopped down the last step on one foot. She gingerly set her foot down and grimaced, she had burned her foot through the footwraps. Growling, Bristar grabbed the offending piece of cloth in her claws and tore what was left of it off. She shouldn't have been bothered by it, but the Khajiit always acted strange when her death seemed imminent.

"Quick, against the wall."

The Imperial shoved her against the wall and she was quite suddenly staring at a black scaled wing. Her curious nature sprang up and she half wanted to touch the wing, see what it felt like. Before she could act on her curiosity, the dragon was gone, its fire with it. The Imperial quickly sprang up and ran to his left, Bristar close behind him despite her foot. The two weaved through a house that seemed to Bristar ready to collapse, the creaks she heard amongst the crackling flames concerning her nearly as much as the close proximity of the flames did. They turned right in the house and reached a dead end in the means of a still on fire wall that was still somewhat still intact. Bristar looked around her immediate vicinity, spotting several ledges she could have climbed were her hands not bound.

_Just my luck, I make it all this way only to die by a dead end._

As if the Divines had heard her, the dragon passed overhead and the wind its wings made knocked the wall down. Bristar was the first one out, and instantly wished she hadn't been, the smell of death and blood filled her nose along with smoke. She looked away from the men bleeding his life out on the ground before her. Feet slapping on the cobblestones of the street, she ran down the street towards a keep she could see through an opening in the wall. The dragon roared and she cringed, but didn't stop running. Up ahead, she could several archers and a familiar Stormcloak cuirass squeezing through a hole in the wall. Ralof ran up to her, a dagger in his hand. She half-ran half-limped over to the man she considered a friend. He looked down at her bad foot with some concern before smiling at her.

"It is good to see you still alive." He looked over her shoulder and frowned at the Imperial behind her."We're escaping, Hadvar, and you can't stop us."

"Out of my way, traitor."

Hadvar - the Imperial - spat, glaring daggers at Ralof. To his credit, Ralof stared coolly back, no emotion showing in his blue eyes. Wordlessly, Ralof beckoned to her and without a second thought she followed him toward the keep. Ralof pushed the door open and disappeared into the dim light of the keep, with a last glance over her shoulder at Hadvar, she followed after him. Her eyes instantly adjusted to the little light inside the keep. She stepped gingerly onto the cool stone floor. It felt good on her burn, but each step still caused stabs of pain to shoot up her leg.

"Why does Hadvar dislike you so much?" Bristar asked curiously. She watched as he muttered a prayer over a fallen Stormcloak, probably a companion of his.

"We are both from Riverwood. We grew up together, but when the war started I followed Ulfric and he joined the Legion. Simple as that. Come, let's get those bindings off."

She readily walked over to him and held her arm out. With a movement that made her want to cringe, he easily sliced through her bindings. The Khajiit rubbed her wrists together to return some feeling to them, the Imperials sure knew how to tie a knot. Ralof turned the Stormcloak over and roughly tugged the cuirass the dead wore off.

"Here," He handed it to her. "This will work better than those rags you have on. When your done with that, Gungor still has his boots and gloves, take his axe as well, it will serve you better than it is serving him."

_Axe,_ She thought distastefully, curling her lip as she slipped the Stormcloak armor over the ragged tunic. _I hate axes, they're not good for anything, just hacking and slashing, can't stab in the back with it, and can't hide it under clothes._

She wrapped her burnt foot in the somewhat intact footwrap on her other foot. With just a little bit of difficulty, she tugged both Gungor's boots and his gloves off. The fur on the inside of the boot made her cringe as she put it on, but when she stood, she was glad for the extra padding, her burn hurt for only a moment before the fur molded around her foot.

_Seems Nords are good for something._

She tugged the gloves on and lifted the axe from the dead man, swinging it a few times to get used to its weight.

"The doors are locked, it seem-"

Hearing a footstep that was too heavy to belong to her companion, Bristar silenced him with an upheld paw, she crouched and crept towards the northern door, hiding along the wall. A rough Imperial voice reached her, along with the clanking of heavy armor.

"Imperials." She whispered to him, holding her axe at the ready.

"Get that door open, soldier." Bristar flattened her ears and lifted her lips in a snarl, the Imperial captain. She growled low and crept a few paces closer to the door.

The ensuing combat didn't last for long, Ralof quickly killed the captain while she dispatched the soldier. He had managed to cut her across her nose, it stung but she could tell it wasn't life-threatening. A quick search of the soldier's body gave her a few septims. She picked his sword and dagger up off the ground and strapped them to the belt already on the cuirass she wore. Dropping the blood-slathered axe next to the captain, she took the keyring dangling from the Imperial's belt and tossed it across the room to Ralof.

"See if any of them fit the door." She searched the captain and found nothing that could be of use to her. "Any of them fit?" She called over her shoulder; peering briefly down the corridor, listening for more Imperials.

"Aye." The metallic clang of the door opening followed his statement.

"Great." She blandly stated, taking a sniff of the air as she crept out of the door, the air smelled stale, and damp, it brought to mind the old bread that had been left out in the rain that she had once ate, an unpleasant experience, but a necessary one. She followed Ralof down the stairs, her footfalls silent against his booming steps. She flicked her ears around to hear better, she didn't want to turn a corner and run into Imperial soldiers.

It was worse than Imperial soldiers, she turned a corner and heard the static sound of a lightening spell.

"Oh, gods, a torture room..."

Bristar rushed forward, her heart pounding in anticipation. The one with the lightning spell quickly came into her view, he was fighting several Stormcloak soldiers. Drawing her sword and dagger, she rushed into the fray. While the Imperials' attention was on the two Stormcloak soldiers, she snuck behind the one closest to her and neatly thrust her dagger deep into his back. She blocked a strike from the other one; feinted fancily with her sword while truly striking his stomach with the dagger. He dropped his sword and looked down at his bleeding gut. While he stared dumbly, she slit his throat, snarling at the blood that stuck to the fur on her paw, it would be a pain to clean up later.

"Ralof," One of the Stormcloak's panted as he straightened up, Bristar noticed the red marks across his cheek from the lightning and felt a stab of sympathy. "good to see a familiar face."

"Same here, we didn't think that anyone else would have made it out alive."

The Nords continued talking, but Bristar ignored them as she quickly searched the bodies, the only thing worth anything that she found was a few septims that had trickled out of the boots of one. She stood and peered around the torture room, she couldn't see anything worthy of note in the room, besides the knapsack on the table, which she grabbed, it would be useful to have something to hold things she found in. A book (titled 'The Book of the Dragonborn) and some more septims sat on the table beside it, she put all into the knapsack. The contents of the a pocket in the knapsack brought a smile to her lips, lockpicks. Flexing her fingers, she walked over to a cell that was occupied by a dead mage; poking aand prodding at the lock she easily opened it. The Stormcloaks were clearly startled by the creaking of the cell door as it opened.

"What did you find?" Ralof queried as she left the cell. She put the gold and spell tome she had found in the knapsack as she answered.

"Some gold, I thought it would be helpful once we get out of here."

She pulled the hood on over her head, adjusting it to a comfortable position and tucking the edges under the cuirass she wore, to trap the warmth. When she had it firmly tucked, she felt a jolt of magicka energy rush through her and pool in her veins.

_My, my, it is enchanted, an added bonus, warmth and more magicka, how exciting._

She remembered some of the words in the spell tome entitled 'Sparks', whispering them, she was surprised when small sparks of lightning burst from her fingertips, and was pleasantly surprised when her magicka drained far less than it normally would have with a new spell.

"You a mage, Khajiit?"

One of the Stormcloak soldiers asked, looking down at the black marks on the stone floor. Bristar knew of the distrust that Nords had for magic, despite that they had a college dedicated to the study of magic entirely. She slightly agreed with them, but magic had saved her on several occasions. And while she was indeed no mage, she had honed what little skills she did have to their finest, all with no formal training. With a dismissive wave, she walked past him and behind the counter. She found a book immediately, which she flipped through briefly and, finding nothing of interest, tossed to the side.

"No, no, my skills tend to lean more towards sneaking, and other... unsavory talents."

The Stormcloak understood instantly what she meant and frowned at her, which only made her grin stretch wider. Frowning was what normally happened when people found out she was a thief. Though, particularly in Cyrodiil, the response would be to try to imprison her, they were very protective of their money.

"Come along, we shouldn't dally."

Bristar agreed with Ralof and trailed behind the small group of Stormcloak soldiers.

Several hours later, it was a singed, clawed, slashed, shocked and shot at Khajiit that left the cave under the keep, a bear pelt neatly rolled up and tied to her knapsack; a grin brightening her eyes as she stepped into the sun.

"Hello Skyrim."

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><p><strong>AN:**So, I did skip the storeroom part, and the part where the dragon collapses part of the wall, but they were only minor details, so I skipped them. Yes, I did skip over all the rest of the beginning after the torture room, because, 1) I thought that I was drawing out the beginning a bit. And 2) I really wanted to get the chapter out. So, yeah.

I figure that I'll try to get a chapter out every two to three days, but it may take a bit longer in some instances.

**EDIT:** Made some minor and major changes. Finished a few unfinished thoughts. Added a date. Fixed mistakes.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **No authors note from me!

_**R**__**aven**_ **R:**Thanks for the review!

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><p>Chapter Three<p>

****5th of Sun's Height, **4E 201**

The Khajiit lazed on the riverbank next to the mill, trailing her fingers through the water and enjoying the sunshine. She liked Ralof's family, Gerdur had demanded that Bristar stay a few days to let the burn on her foot heal before setting off for Whiterun. Hence, her current state of laziness. With her other hand, she smoothed a few wrinkles out of the stomach of the brown runic she wore.

She was glad that Gerdur hadn't only had dresses. She didn't like dresses, too much material about the legs, she much preferred tunics. Tunics were also easier to cut holes into for her tail; her pride and joy, and the bane of her clothing. Then again, Bristar could be wearing one of Jod's tunics and not know the difference. Now that the thought had reached her, she couldn't put it out of her mind.

_Surely Jod is too large of a Nord for any of his tunics to fit me. Besides... wouldn't the fabric be cut differently?_

The splash of a fish jumping snapped her out of her thoughts, which she was happy about; she didn't often think about what she wore, but when she started she couldn't stop. She hummed a few notes from a ditty in Cyrodiil and closed her eyes happily, her thoughts turning to the long trek to get to Riverwood.

It actually hadn't taken Ralof and Bristar long to reach Riverwood. It had taken several hours to find the road. Then it had taken several more to get down to the Guardian Stones. Ralof had told her a story that she was sure had been made up, but she had touched the Thief nonetheless. The shock she had felt when the stars lit up had made her stumble back. Just to test if the stone had really bestowed something on her, she tried to pickpocket from Ralof. It hadn't gone well. Her fingers had still been a little stiff from being bound for so long, and she had stepped on a sharp rock with her bad foot. It had sliced through the sole of the boots she wore right as she was trying the lift. She blamed Ralof for telling her that silly story. And he still claimed that it wasn't a story.

The barking of that annoying dog that Gerdur's son owned reached her and dragged her from her thoughts, she flicked them back and successfully cut off the disturbing sound. When the barking came close enough that she could hear it even with her ears back, Bristar turned her head and opened an eye to look for the annoyance. Gerdur's son, with the dog, stood over her, hands on his hips, an eager look in his blue eyes.

"Are you awake?"

He shouted while his dog barked, which was reaching the epitome of annoying. She opened her other eye and glared the dog into silence, its tongue lolled around as it looked between the boy and the Khajiit. She grumbled to herself as she pushed herself to her feet, stretching and yawning as if she had just woken up, instead of having been merely resting. Her back cracked loudly as she twisted to the right and the left.

"I am now." She growled to the boy, glaring at him with no true malice. Bristar would never have hurt a child. "What do you want, child?"

"I'm not a child, I'm eleven." He shouted indignantly, stomping his foot, she stared meaningfully at him, an eyebrow raised.

"Very well, eleven, why did you wake me up?"

The boy stood there for a time, his eyes screwed up as he tried to remember. Bristar rolled her eyes to the heavens and took a deep breath to gather her patience before looking at him again. The boy began to hum, which may have been helping him think but was annoying her to no end.

"You talk funny." He blurted out. The Khajiit put a paw to her forehead and sighed, why did children always think that she talked strange, just because she didn't talk like the rest of her kin. "I mean, you don't talk like you cats usually do, why not?"

Bristar looked to the heavens and sighed again before sitting cross-legged on the bank, slipping her bare feet into the water, the boy sat next to her, his dog leaping into the river after a deer across the way. A sly grin cracked her 'tough' visage and she began to weave a tale that was so untrue, it nearly hurt her sides while she held back her laughter and kept a serious expression.

"When I was a child, I was sold into slavery by my mother, luckily, the man she sold me to was a kind man, and a scholar as well. I stole a scroll from his library and tried to read it, but I knew only a few sounds and letters, the rest looked like lines and shapes. He saw me one day, trying to read it, and told me that he would teach me to read, if I would be his assistant, I agreed, and it took a while, but he eventually managed to beat the way my kin speak out of me. That, is why I don't speak like my kith and kin."

She congratulated herself on a story well told while the boy looked at her in open-mouthed wonder, clearly having believed every word. There was a small thread of truth in it, she had indeed been indentured to a scholar when she had seen sixteen winters (sixty-four seasons, if she counted her age by Khajiit standards). Albeit, the scholar had been a Khajiit, and she had never, ever, liked reading. She did now, but she hadn't at that age.

"I don't suppose that all that was true?" A familiar voice behind her said between laughs. She tilted her head back and glared at the offending blond Nord. He laughed louder and tugged his boots off, plopping down next to the duo and splashing the Khajiit with water. With another glare at Ralof, she glanced at the boy and pretended to listen to the wind for a second.

"Run along now, eleven," She told the boy next to her hurriedly. "I believe I hear your mother calling for you."

While he scampered off toward Gerdur's house, Ralof laughed his booming laugh again. Bristar gave him a glare and shook her head, biting her cheek to keep from laughing with him.

"You were this," She illustrated with her forefinger and thumb. "close to ruining a perfectly good story; I've been waiting to use that one ever since we escaped Helgen. I was just waiting for someone to ask why I don't talk like the rest of my kin."

Ralof slapped her heartily on the shoulder and laughed again. "Bristar, don't tell me that every word of that story wasn't a lie."

She shrugged and rubbed her shoulder, ruing the day she let a Nord become her friend, these humans were bear-like in their strength.

"Are you kidding me? My mother loved me too much to sell me into slavery, no scholar would be willing to teach me how to read, and no one would be able to beat anything out of me. Besides, I don't steal scrolls. I burn them."

Ralof rolled his eyes at her and grinned.

"I'm glad you followed me, even if it is hard to discern the truth from a lie."

She scoffed and put a paw over her heart in mock disbelief. "Me? Lie? The very notion makes me embarrassed to call you my friend, the idea that you would imply-"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it, no need for the theatrics, save it for someone who will listen."

Mock indignation leaking from her, the Khajiit crossed her arms with a huff and turned her nose up.

"Save it for someone who will listen... Who would listen to me? I'm just a Khajiit, most believe that we never tell the truth."

"A belief you support with your fancy words. You could talk a mother hen out of her egg."

His words reminded her of when she did try to talk a hen out of an egg, it had proven to have a most... disastrous outcome, that ended in a nest being smashed and her being pecked within an inch of her life by a fuming mother. She shuddered to think of it.

"Oh, don't tell me you actually tried?" She nodded mournfully at him, thinking of how long it ad taken her to get the egg and eggshell chips out of her hair and fur. Peals of laughter from both Ralof and Bristar echoed across the water.

"So," His voice suddenly turned serious, she squinted at him out of the corner of her eye, curious. "when will you set off for Whiterun?"

She leaned back on her paws and tilted her head to the sun while she thought. Her foot was almost healed, the cold water of the river had helped it, as did her occasion blasts with a healing spell. She could have it healed instantly, if she had wished, but she wanted to spend more time in Riverwood after her experience with the dragon (and she couldn't be seen with this much singed hair in a major city).

"I was thinking of leaving this afternoon."

"Sounds about right, if you leave now, you'll make Whiterun by a few hours after nightfall."

The Khajiit hummed her reply, her enjoyment of the sunlight growing as it seeped into her bones. The sound of a child laughing reached her and she looked over her shoulder to see Gerdur talking with her son. Something the woman had told him had brought laughter bubbling up.

"Well, go on then," Ralof's voice broke into her brief reverie. "or do you want me to dump you into the river?"

"You wouldn't dare." She narrowed her eyes at him, thoughts turning to all the things she had hidden in pockets that would be ruined by water. "I can't swim."

"Now that," He laughed and shoved her, almost tipping her into the water. "is a lie. You were bragging to Faendel that you were the swimming champion of Elsweyr. Besides, this river goes right by Whiterun, you could float there."

That, along with the utterly deadpan voice he used had her convinced. Bristar sprang to her feet and snatched up her boots. Hopping on one foot, she jammed her other into her boot, she hurriedly shoved her other boot on, trying to avoid the maniacally laughing Nord. Ralof stumbled to his feet, still laughing. He handed her the bow she had taken off a body and the two daggers she had bought from Alvor, the town's blacksmith. She hastily strapped the blades on, not sure if the Nord would still carry out his threat now that she had weapons.

Under her disapproving green eyes, the Nord collapsed into laughter. Great booming laughs that would hurt his stomach later, a fact for which she was strangely happy about. She cleared her throat to gain his attention while he sucked in his breath and hastily spoke before he could begin to laugh again.

"Come now, are you not going to bid me farewell?"

"Bristar," He climbed to his feet, a grin spread from ear to ear, he wiped imaginary tears from his mirth filled eyes. "I highly doubt this is the last time we'll meet. I'll be hearing of you in a few months time.

"Of me?"

"You're a too easily remembered person. Just don't let me hear it from a guard."

She picked up her knapsack and the quiver full of cheap arrows, strapping the quiver on as she walked. Ralof ran a few steps to catch up to her and they walked in a companionable silence past the shop and inn. When they crossed the bridge just outside of town, Ralof stopped. Bristar paused with him, part of her wishing that she could have stayed in Riverwood and spent the rest of her days there, while her adventuring part told her there were things to steal and mischief to cause.

"I suppose now is the time I tell you goodbye."

She had never been good with goodbyes, or greetings to be truthful; greetings were just another blot on the enjoyment of a conversation, especially when one had to leave a thought to greet a latecomer. Ralof shrugged noncommittally and her mind turned back to the conversation at hand.

"I'll stay here a few more days before setting off for Windhelm. I know you won't join the war, but at least look for me if you ever find yourself there, friend."

Bristar smiled at the feeling the Nord calling her friend brought her, she hadn't had a friend in a while. Oh sure, there were business associates, but when one felt that the other was going to stab them in the back - with a deal or literally - one didn't forge a friendship with the other. She felt honored to be able to call Ralof a friend, she probably needed more of them.

"I will. If anything, I might find something I like there, yes?"

"Aye, you might."

"Till next we meet." She called over her shoulder as she set off, stopping only for a moment to look her shoulder at the idyllic town that she would very much like to call home. With the mill and the inn, and Faendel (Whom she found very amusing in his affection for Lucien's sister), and her first friend in a new land, even the boy and his annoying dog.

_Before I die, I would very much so like to come back here._ She thought as she finally tore her eyes away from the peaceful scene, a burden falling upon her shoulders as she headed towards Whiterun, towards what she didn't know it but was, her destiny.

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><p><strong>AN:**And there we go, this is it for this week (Unless I follow up on a thought I have involving snow, in the spirit of the season), but look for me very soon!

So, I know this isn't a long chapter, or a very good one, but I was trying to capture Riverwood, because I seriously wanted to stay there for a long time when I first saw it, call me strange, but I get moved my places like that. And I know, corny ending.

Am I the only one who thinks Ralof (Or Hadvar, depending on the side you chose) should have a bigger role in the war?

And, on one of my characters, I did float down the river to Whiterun.

Till next I write~Duroflo

**EDIT: **Added a date. Fixed a few mistakes. Added several paragraphs to improve flow.


	4. Chapter 4

You can just skip this.

So, a while back a couple chapters of mine, chapter one and chapter two, disappeared entirely. So, I rewrote the first one but postponed on writing the fourth. Now, I've decided to not rewrite the fourth one as it didn't really have much by the way of plot development.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:**Happy New Year! Hope everyone had a great 2011! I actually meant for this to be out a few days ago, but circumstances kept me from being able to.

**Raven R:**Yep, there will be a human character, my assassin is an Imperial.

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><p>Chapter Four<p>

**14th of Second Seed, 4E, 201**

Furless were strange, Bristar decided as she cut down the bandits lingering around the outside of Bleak Falls Barrow. Especially the Dark Elf Irileth and that wizard Farengar. The former because of her undying loyalty to the Jarl, Balgruuf, the latter for his fascination with dragons. Honestly, dragons were returning, they were burning houses and she couldn't forget the stab of fear that shot through her when she was climbing up here and a huge shadow fell over her - it had been some sort of tattered flag - why anyone would want to study then was currently beyond her own abilities.

She hadn't been expecting the Jarl to need her help for anything else, but she couldn't turn the man down when he asked her to help his court wizard with something he had found pertaining to the return of the dragons. Bristar set out immediately, she was going to be in Skyrim for quite some time, and if dragons were going to be a problem now, then she was going to do everything in her power to know everything she could about them. But not study them with an interest in merely studying them.

She entered the Barrow slowly, careful to shut the door silently behind her, who knew what would dwell in here. She crept forward, ears alert to hear any movement. Each step she scanned the ground to find the optimum place for silence, all the while scanning the room ahead for anything.

She soon noticed a lump rising from the ground, a few steps closer and she saw that it was a Nord body laying next to a prone skeever, a day or two dead, judging by the smell. She snuck around them, the sheer overwhelming smell deterring her from the bodies. As she carefully stepped forward, she heard two voices talking up ahead, the speakers hidden by a column.

Sneaking closer, she moved a bit to the right, her paw falling on her bow. With an arrow readied, Bristar moved to the right a bit more, recognizing the shabby armor that most bandits scraped together. With a prayer for a true shot, she fired at the woman stirring something in the pot and stood, rushing to the left, readying another arrow on her bow. Coming up behind the other bandit, she fired her other arrow and dropped the bow, drawing a dagger as she ran froward. Absently, she noticed that her arrow had hit him in the thigh, she cursed her ill luck and while he doubled over grasping the wood protruding from him, slit his throat.

She found nothing of value on either body besides the arrows the woman had. Whilst listening for more bandits, she looked through the knapsack leaning against the column, surprised to find a few books (which she took, she enjoyed reading in her spare time), some septims, and a few useful looking potions with questionable labels. She went back and picked her bow up then the Khajiit slowly made her way down the steps and narrow hallway, careful to not trip over the mass amount of roots covering the floor. She turned a few corners, stopping just before she did to listen for footsteps or voices.

Around the last corner, she spotted a bandit in a room ahead. He was walking towards a lever in the middle of the room. Curious, Bristar waited, her paw lingering on her bow if needed. When the man pulled the lever, she heard the unique _click_ of a pin being removed and gears turning, the sound of a trap being set off. Darts dripping with poison cut through the air and stuck into him, she winced sympathetically when he cried in pain a moment later, the prick of the darts not having registered at first, and died.

When the last dart tinged off the stone, she stepped forward, avoiding his body, she knew that the poison would still be lingering across his skin, ready to kill the next person to touch him. Instead, she looked around the room, some sort of pillars stood to the right, and they matched the etching on the two slabs of stone hanging from the mouth of some sort of creature in the upper part of the room, well, they would if they were facing each other like a mirror.

_I hate puzzles._ She thought, turning the two pillars on the ground to match the etchings above. Praying that she was right in her hunch, she pulled the lever and darted forward, hiding behind a fallen piece of stone. The gate behind her groaned, lurched, then opened fully. She thanked whatever Divines had helped her, and inspected the new room as she saw it.

The chest right before her took all her interest while she rummaged around in it, finding a tidy sum of septims, more arrows, a book, and a few potions. With a happy cackle she put it all in her knapsack, slipping the coins into a hidden pocket she had sewn into it herself when in Riverwood. Suddenly, she heard the snuffle of a skeever sniffing behind her. Turning slowly, she saw that she had heard right, but it wasn't just one, it was three of the hideous beats from Oblivion. She drew her twin daggers and crouched, waiting for them to notice her. They were fascinated by the new room, probably had never set foot outside of this one, and whatever was down the winding stairway she could see from her position.

_Just turn already, rat._ As if the repulsive creatures had heard her, they sniffed once more then turned back. Seeing her, they squealed and squeaked and made all kinds of wretched sounds as they rushed at her. The ensuing scuffle was a relatively short one, as scuffles go, but a rather long one, as scuffles with skeever go. It ended up with Bristar taking the skeevers' tails, while making sure that her own was in tact.

_Don't have to check my tail after a fight with man or mer, they hardly pay it any mind. But in a fight with an animal, they _ always _go for the tail, its like they know._

Indignant at the tufts of fur stuck in the ratlike creatures' claws, she slashed their bodies a few more times, wishing she had made them suffer for longer. Satisfied with the carnage she had created, the Khajiit jumped down the stairway, ignoring the steps in favor for a fall. Her landing was easy, she actually hadn't been expecting such a short fall, so she stumbled a bit when she did, but she considered it easy since she hadn't broken anything. The new room didn't have anything worth exploring, so she quickly made her way through it, passing into a cobwebbed area.

"Arnara, is that you? Can anyone hear me? No, no, stay back." The man screamed the last part, and Bristar wasn't too surprised to hear the rustling steps of a Frostbite spider. Seeing a doorway covered with webs she slashed them apart with a dagger and readied herself for combat with the spider.

"Oh, gods, kill it." The man shouted to her, she ignored him and flattened her ears against her head, lifting her lips in a snarl. The spider spat a blob of venom at her, she dodged it and sliced the mess with her dagger, coating it in the venom. A few slashes and blocks later and the spider was dead, killed by its own venom. She spat on the body, her disgust evident, then turned to the man hanging from a web.

Or rather, the Dunmer hanging from the web. He was babbling incessantly, and she was starting to wish that she had just let the spider slowly drain his life away, but that would have meant waiting, and she had never been good at waiting when there was something for her to do.

"I know everything. The markings, the key to the Hall of Stories - I know how it all fits together. Now cut me down_._" He demanded, a quiver of fear leaking into the his voice, she rolled her eyes, she had been trapped in a web once, and even with fur covering her body she hadn't been that uncomfortable, the web was strong, and the only thing that one had to worry about when caught in one is starvation, not strangulation, or poison, for contrary to Nord belief, the webs did not hold any poison. With a few well placed slashes, the web clinging to the Dunmer fell down, as did he.

"Who are you?" She asked, looking him up and down. He wasn't very worthy of being remembered, besides being a Dunmer and having a raspy voice.

"You'll never catch me." He shouted, turning and running down the hallway. She sighed and began to leisurely walk after him, it would dead end eventually or he would make a wrong turn, or maybe there were more skeevers down here. Anyway, she wasn't going to lose her breath over someone who thought they were worthy of a chase. The room she turned into had some interesting trinkets in the chest and burial urns, she browsed to her heart's content, even flipping through a book and reading a chapter or two.

Unexpectedly, a strange sound drifted down from up ahead, creaking, like a door hinge that hadn't been oiled. She heard a scream and, forgoing her previous plan to let the Dunmer run himself exhausted, she rushed forward, drawing her twin daggers. What stood before her when she turned a corner sent a rush of fear up her spine. Two... dead looking _things_ stood over the body of the Dunmer. She resisted the urge to run and raised her daggers, wrapping her tail around her leg so they didn't have a handhold. The one on the right swung at her, and rather than try to block the overhanded blow, she dodged to the right and rushed closer to it, though everything in her told her not to. She quickly slashed its side and jumped back to avoid the wild swing it retaliated with. The other one attacked her just as she was getting her footing back, she turned to the side and took it on the leather armor she had bought. The blow staggered her but otherwise she was completely unharmed.

She spat at them and swung her right dagger, twirling around to slash at the one closest to her twice more. It dropped down... dead? again. The other one obviously felt no pity at the second death of its companion and didn't attack any angrier than before. She did the same attack, and dropped the other one. For a moment she felt triumph at their death, then she realized that there would be more of them up ahead, guarding the dragonstone, and groaned.

The Khajiit went back and looted the Dunmer's body, flipping through his journal and taking a strange trinket that looked like a golden claw off his body. If only for curiosity's sake, she read his journal and was surprised to learn that the Dunmer had been on the verge of finding some 'great treasure' and the answer was literally in the palm of the golden claw. She looked at it and could make out three animal shapes. Storing the information for later, she stuffed the claw and the journal in her knapsack, taking out a heavy book called _Songs of the Return Vol. 19_ and dropped it, she wasn't going to go looking for eighteen other volumes.

She looked out into the gloom below, and her cat eyes could just make out skeletons and wrapped up dead bodies, she shuddered and slowly made her way down the steps, any of them could come alive at any moment.

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><p><strong>AN:** So... yeah. I know its not all correct, but that's how I remember it, somewhat, and the rest I made up. For me, Arvel was a Dunmer, but when I did the Golden Claw on another character, he was an Orc. So, correct for me.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:**Hello! Me again!

So, I'm going to make Whiterun... bigger, if that makes any sense. I mean, there aren't really that many people living there in the game, I think there's more guards than citizens. So if there's any OCs, then that's why. Also, I'll be doing the same in Solitude (Because there's like twenty people living in the capital city, which makes no sense whatsoever).

**Raven R: **I have to tell myself to not go on IGN... It's worked so far... most of the time that is.

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><p>Chapter Six<p>

**15th of Second Seed, 4E 201**

Za'phriel looked around the Bannered Mare from her vantage point sitting by the fire. It was cozy, or as cozy as a Nord inn could be. Furs seemed to be their dominant decoration, stretched out on the walls, covering chairs, spread out as rugs, not that she was complaining, the fur that she was sitting on was big and soft, it tickled her bare arms and cushioned what would otherwise have been a hard seat. She closed her eyes and sighed happily, picking up the tankard of warm mead on the small table beside her, she took a few sips and held it in her hand. She was so comfortable, even if the bard behind her sang a little off key and hit a few wrong notes. She opened her eyes and looked at the man across from her as he complained yet again about the horrible security in Whiterun.

_Why don't you do something about it, then?_ She thought angrily, tuning him out as she took another sip from her tankard. She looked around at the few people gracing the inn with their presence. A woman, she looked Nord, sat in a corner table, wearing armor that looked even heavier than what Za'phriel was wearing now. There was of course the man ranting about the guard, the two barkeeps, and the bard. And herself, a lonely Bosme. Jjust arrived in Skyrim by illegal means, with not but the armor she wore and the weapons at her side. And of course the fat coinpurse she had taken from her step-father before leaving.

She was surprised by the lack of farmers here, it was a Second Seed evening. They should be gathered around, telling each other of the woes of farming, complaining about the giants and regaling each other with tales of the Companions. But no farmers came in, apparently they had something better to do on a summer night. She had been looking forward to listening to stories. It had been a while since the Bosmer had heard a tale worth repeating. She leaned back farther into the chair, drifting off to sleep.

"Hey, Elf, you want to sleep, you get a room, ten septims a night, forty septims for the week if you pay me now."

The innkeeper, a woman, nearly shouted directly in her ear. She bolted upright - didn't the woman realize that she could hear the breathing of the man sitting across from him and would wake at the slightest provocation? The woman looked expectantly at her, easily ignoring the half-hearted glare the Bosmer was sending her. Za'phriel blinked a few times before what the barkeep had said sank in.

"Oh, right, money for a room." She dug in her coinpurse and took out the forty septims. She was planning on staying for a while, find some work from the local... she believed that they were called Jarls, but she wasn't certain. A week would be a good start.

"Room to the right. Opens up right at the main room, can't miss it, 'course, you can fall asleep in the chair now, if you like."

She nodded and leaned back into the furs again. The door opened to let four Nords and a Dunmer in. She peered at them through half-lidded eyes. Studying them with interest, since they were the only thing of interest in the inn. The Dunmer looked like a Dunmer. Brown hair pulled back into a horsetail, red eyes, he wore light armor and carried a longsword.

The Nords, however, caught her attention. Two of them were from the fight with the giant earlier. The woman who could wear more armor, and the man who had been thrown by the giant. The other Nord man looked much like... was he called Farkas? so much that he could be the other Nord's twin. She shamelessly listened to their conversation, appearing disinterested by their entrance.

"Honestly, icebrain, you should be in bed. Vilma told me you broke a few ribs." She could hear the concern in the Nord woman's voice, though she masked it well.

"I'm fine, Aela, can't even feel them."

Za'phriel's eyes widened slightly at his voice. She had never heard a voice so deep before. Elven voices, while not as high as a woman's, weren't as deep as a Man's could be.

"Sure you are, brother." The Farkas look-a-like sounded like him too. "Told you Aela, he'll be fine so long as he doesn't get in any fights."

"See," The woman crowed. "Vilkas agrees with me."

Farkas grunted out something about where Vilkas could shove his agreements.

"Fine," Aela muttered, her voice suddenly brusque. "but when you come back to Jorrvaskr with more broken ribs, don't blame me."

A companionable silence followed the statement. Za'phriel was sure it wasn't the first, or last, such lecture that Farkas had received.

"So, Athis," Za'phriel assumed Aela was talking to the Dunmer. "do any deeds worth mentioning?"

"Well, I cleared out a crypt of Draugr, nasty fellows."

_Draugr? What's a Draugr? In a crypt? I'm confused, are they talking about the undead?  
><em>

"How much coin did you make?"

This woman was beyond curious. In Valenwood she would be considered prying into personal affairs. The Bosmer didn't ask what one made, it looked too much like they were going to steal from the other person.

"A tidy sum."

Athis told the huntress cryptically, Za'phriel inwardly congratulated him.

"And you, Vilkas? You know what me and Farkas were doing, but what job did you have?"

The one called Vilkas was silent for a moment before he spoke.

"Cleared out a cave of Falmer, I found the bodies of a girl and her mother. Seems they were looking for mushrooms for cooking and alchemy, I buried them."

A moment of silence fell on the four. Za'phriel sent a quick prayer up to the Divines for the lost souls. They soon regained their good spirits and started talking about the bard, jabbing at his missed notes.

She glared down at her empty tankard, having just drank the last sip. How dare it be empty at a time like this. She didn't to have to walk past them, Aela would probably look at her, maybe recognize her. Probably have her talk to them about marksmanship, since she carried a fine longbow and Aela had been called Huntress by the innkeeper.

But, since she dearly wanted another tankard of mead to sip at (she had a high tolerance for alcohol and an unhealthy love of it), she stood and walked over to the barkeep, ignoring the four Companions sitting on the stools.

"A tankard of mead, if you please."

Her accent was prominent, even to her own ears.

Four sets of eyes stared at her, one harder than others. She discretely shifted her weight to her other foot nervously, the barkeep seemed to be taking forever getting her mead. When finally the woman came back and set her tankard down on the bar, she became aware of the fact that she hadn't eaten all day long and grudgingly asked for meat bread and cheese, her staple meal.

"You," Aela finally exclaimed, being the one who had been drilling her with the hardest stare. "you're the elf. The one that took down the giant."

Now the attention was on her. Besides being stared at for being an elf, she was being stared at for killing a giant. She just wanted to get her food and get out of here. But now she had to talk and she hated talking.

"If you think so."

She sipped from her tankard as she watched the barkeep slice a thick slab of meat off a shank of deer, clearly knowing that Wood Elves were carnivores. Her mouth watered from the scent of it.

"'Course you were. Y'know Farkas, if she hadn't have come along you would be dead."

"Yeah, sure, thanks."

Clearly Farkas was as much of a talker as she was. She grunted and turned to go back to her seat, only to stop short in surprise, someone had taken it. She cursed under her breath at them and looked around the room for another seat.

"Surely you have stories of your battles, come, regale us with them."

_Trust me, you don't want to hear the stories I have. _

She knew that Aela was only being companionable - and wasn't that hilarious - and didn't mean any harm. But she didn't want to tell stories of Valenwood. Seeing that Aela was waiting for her to talk, she told the woman in a hurried voice.

"I hunt, collect bounties. Work for lords and Jarls. Survive."

She knew her answer was blunt, but the question was one that deserved a blunt answer. She strode over to a dark corner where she had spotted another seat, away from prying people.

* * *

><p><strong>15th of Second Seed, 4E 201<strong>

"You see what happens now? Hm Bristar? You should have paid more attention when that man was talking about the Draugr."

The Khajiit berated herself under her breath as she slowly made her way down the long corridor. She couldn't see any of the strange upright coffins in it, or any of the shelves. But she didn't want to be surprised, like all the other times before. She was covered in her own blood - the undead didn't have the decency to bleed when she killed them - healing potions and spells were her friends. She looked mournfully down at her now very empty of potions knapsack. She had two left, one red bottle and one blue. Both would prove helpful in the event that she should be wounded.

She peered ahead, tired of crouching and walking slowly, seeing no tripwires or pressure plates, Bristar ran to the end of the hall, if she woke a Draugr she would kill it. Again. This whole adventure was turning even more strange for her than her normal ones.

She stopped short in front of a huge door, studying it carefully. There were three rings, all with three different animals on them, the middle circle had three claw-like punctures in it, as if something had been pressed into it. Having a sudden smart thought, she took the golden claw out and looked down at the three animals on its palm. The first was Bear, then Butterfly, then Bird. She moved the rings accordingly, though they groaned from not having been used for a very long time. Hoping that her idea was correct (and knowing that it was) she inserted the claw into the marks and pushed, turning it to first the left, where she couldn't turn it, then to the right, it slid into place and the door began to disappear into the ground.

She danced happily a second, it wasn't often that her ideas were right. She stepped over the slightly jutting up door and into the cavern beyond. The gurgling of a stream reminded her that she had emptied her waterskin a while back. Whilst cautiously looking around, Bristar walked to the stream that flowed through the cavern and drank her fill. It took her longer than usual for she was constantly looking around for Draugr. Once she had filled her waterskin, she looked around the cavern.

It was big and tall and beyond interesting to look at. There was a wall covered in strange runic writing directly across from her, on a flat plateau. There was a table with an urn, and several object she couldn't see from here, sitting on it. A coffin sat next to it. She stepped across the stream and up the steps.

A strange whispering drifted to her, she flicked her ear to try and locate the origin of the sound. She looked around and saw the rune covered wall, curious, she stepped closer. The whispering grew louder, into a chant. One of the words lit up into a blue, she peered at it, her curiosity peeking. Light flickered out of it and circled around her. Startled she stood completely still, unsure of what it was.

_I am Fus. _

She heard, though she was sure if anyone else were here, she would be the only one to hear it.

_I am Force. _

She stepped up to the word, getting as close as she dared to it.

_Fus is Force, use me well._

The light suddenly cut off and the glowing runes dimmed. She shook her head, blinking rapidly. She felt... as if she had learned something new. Something that was new to her but old, as if it were an ancient tongue.

She heard a cracking behind her, a sound that she recognized. Bristar whirled, her daggers already drawn and in her paws. Before her stood a very large, very mean looking Draugr. At the sight of the runes that lit up his blade she let out a groan. A shock enchantment, she hated shock, it made her fur stand on end.

She dodged his first swing and retaliated with a quick jab. His next slash caught her by surprise. She let it glance off her armor, the force behind it staggered her; it wasn't until the last second that she saw his blade slicing down at her. She purposefully fell back and rolled to her side, the blade hit the ground and raised sparks. Both daggers ready in her paws, she leaped at him. She had caught him by surprise and he fell back under her weigh, she sliced as many times as she could before the impact knocked her off him. He didn't get up.

Bristar almost didn't feel like getting up either. She had fallen on his blade, and sliced her arm open from elbow to wrist. Through the pain, she groaned and stumbled to her feet. She tried to get into her knapsack with her good paw, and managed to pull out one of the potions. The blue contents of it glared at her - she wondered briefly how they got it blue - she set it on the table in front of her and reached in for the other. It slipped away from her claw when she tried to get it and fell down farther into her knapsack, hiding under some books.

She gave up on it and muttered some of the words for the only healing spell she knew. White light flooded from her good hand to around her, lingering on her wound and knitting it back together. The bliss Bristar felt from being free of pain was unlike any other. She sighed happily and put her potion (and the others on the table) into her knapsack.

Just as she was wondering how she would get out, a gust of wind blew through the cavern. Knowing now that there had to be another way out, she looked at the right side of the cavern and saw the path leading to some steps. Gleeful at seeing the moon, she ran up the steps and out into Skyrim.

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><p><strong>AN:**Was the way I did the word wall strange? I didn't want to do something like, 'She suddenly had knowledge about what the word meant' because that's just lame to me for me to write, so I made the word literally 'speak' to her, hope it wasn't too strange.

Also, the fight scene. If it lacks anything, please let me know, so I can improve in my later scenes like it.

If you spot any grammatical errors or mistakes, please let me know, so I can fix it.

~Duroflo~


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Bonjour!

**Raven R:**I know! It was frost, but then I was thinking (literally) 'I'm stinkin' tired of frost enchantments, I'm changin' it to shock!' so... :)

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><p>Chapter Seven<p>

**17th of Second Seed, 4E 201**

It had taken her two days to get back to Whiterun, but only because she had gotten lost in Falkreath Hold on her way back. Her map was inaccurately marked. When she tried to go between two mountain in a specifically marked pass it hadn't existed. Of course, she wasn't going to blame the shopkeeper she had bought the map from (she actually did, but there was no point in doing so), she blamed the mapmaker. At least since it was hers, she could mark it. She had scribbled an 'X' over at the name of the pass, with a small rune meaning 'not good' written next to it in extremely small writing.

But, no matter, she was back in Whiterun now, sipping some wine from her tankard as she watched the marketplace from her vantage point on the wall leading to the Gildergreen (as she was led to believe the tree's name was). She was waiting for the court wizard to decipher the 'dragonstone', as he called it.

The rude woman who had been with him had made the fur on her shoulders raise, there was something about her... She shook off the shudder that shot up her spine, the woman scared her, bad. She thought that she had heard her voice before, back in Riverwood. Then again, most of the guards sounded the same to her, so it wasn't for her to judge.

She watched a particularly heavily armored female Bosmer trade goods with the Bosmer who ran the meat stall. They were talking up a storm, perhaps about where they were from? Vardengrove, or something like that. She wasn't good with remembering the names of places she hadn't been before. She swung her legs as she took a bite of the apple in the paw that wasn't holding the tankard. Juice ran down her chin, she set the wine down and wiped it on the sleeve of the tunic she wore under her armor. She quickly chomped down on the rest of the fruit. Her hunger sated, she turned impatient eyes to Dragonsreach. How long did it take to learn something from a stone?

_Probably longer than you think, Bristar, so give the man some time. Ye gods, I almost wish a dragon would attack, make things interesting._

She had the annoying habit of calling herself 'Bristar' when she berated herself. When no movement came from the imposing structure, she sighed and finished the rest of her wine. She stood up on the wall and walked casually north, towards the way she had gotten up here. When the ground rose up to meet the square archer's nest, she jumped down, tail wildly moving to keep her balance.

She mixed in with the many strange looking - to her - people mingling under the dead branches of the Gildergreen. The Wind district was full of people, life, conversations, tidbits of knowledge. Just listening as she walked by she learned that Belethor had received a new shipment of goods, that the Grey-Manes and the Battleborns were at each others' throats again. As much as she would have loved to just walk around and listen, she had a destination in mind. If that wizard wasn't done in the time it took her to fix her armor...

The rip in her armor, given to her by a bear while she was being attacked by three wolves, was easily mended. She sat cross-legged by the grindstone and watched Adrianne work. She had only ever been taught how to mend, not how to make, and was very curious about the entire process. She knew enough to know that by the full pieces of leather Adrianne was using that she was making leather armor. The Khajiit looked down at her work. Her fingers bled drops of blood from where she had pricked herself with the thick needle needed to patch the armor. It wasn't as good as new, but it would work for now.

She slipped into the armor and put her hood back on, her magicka swelling in her veins. She was growing quite attached to her hood. She lamented that it was made of such a light fabric, it reflected moonlight quite well. During the day she looked like a clump of dry grass... if she stood next to a clump of dry grass. But it couldn't be helped. The Imperials had taken her regular armor, so this would have to do until she could find armor like it. She had finished admiring her patch work when Adrianne came over, newly made leather armor in her hands. How the woman had managed to make armor in the time it took Bristar to stitch a patch on, she would never know.

"You mend pretty well." Adrianne praised, eying the patch with a practiced eye. "Where did you learn?"

"My mother." The mention of her made her wonder what the wily old cat was up to. "She worked for several years as a blacksmith's apprentice in her adolescence. She taught me everything she knew."

Adrianne and Bristar were knee deep in a discussion about the pros and cons of elvish armor when the guard came skidding to a halt in front of them. Having just decided that no, there was no way that elvish armor could withstand a hit from a giant's club, the two looked on as the man regained his breath and spoke urgently - though still somehow condescendingly - to Bristar.

"Jarl Balgruuf demands your presence, Khajiit, come with me."

Despite her wish for the dragonstone to be deciphered she doubted that a guard running up to summon her was what would have happened. Calling an apology to Adrianne, she followed the Nord. He didn't even look at her during their mad dash to Dragonsreach. He probably didn't understand why the Jarl had summoned a Khajiit, of all people (if she even fell under his definition of 'people'). She truly didn't mind it, she was unsure whether she would have even been able to talk. Most of the endurance she had built up during her year long stint in a Cyrodillian prison had disappeared.

The Jarl was waiting for them outside, along with Irileth and another guard in one of their funny helms. Bending over in what would have been a bow, she drew great shuddering breaths in to quickly catch her breath. By the Divines, she felt weak.

"A dragon flew over the Western Tower earlier today," Jarl Balgruuf began. "it circled a few times then few off towards the Barrow. I'm sending Irileth and a party of guards to reinforce the Tower, I want you to join them."

Bristar froze where she stood, her muscles seizing up in fear. She was no coward, but she was no warrior either. She was a thief, could even be considered an assassin; her skills with a dagger in the dark were nearly unsurpassed. She could disappear before someone's eyes (well, with an invisibility potion and misdirection). But she tended to avoid open fights with anything larger than a wolf if she could help it.

She blinked several times and her fingers twitched as she 'came to life'. She managed a hesitant nod, not trusting herself to speak. She supposed that the adequate Nord response would have been enthusiasm at facing a dragon, but she was no Nord.

"Good." Not ruffled by her lack of exuberance, Balgruuf turned to the guard and dismissed him, before his attention turned to Irileth and Bristar. "Irileth, I want you to take Bristar with you, no," He raised a hand to stay the Dunmer's slight protest. "I won't hear of it. She has proven herself to be handy with a blade, she will be an asset to you in this. Now, hurry, before the beast returns."

The Jarl went back into Dragonsreach without another word. Irileth turned to her, still looking displeased.

"Listen, Khajiit, I know that you're scared," That one word spoken aloud riled her pride just so. Stupid Dunmer, thinking her a coward. "so just stay behind and let us guards take care of this understand?"

Bristar nodded unenthusiastically, following the Dunmer down the steps that moments before she had climbed, though now she was feeling significantly angrier. When they had reached the bottom step, Irileth turned to her.

"I must rally the guards, meet me down by the main gate."

"I shall be there."

Rather than go through the market, like Irileth, Bristar turned towards the residential area, dodging the residents and their animals. She stopped in the middle and looked around her, children, mothers and fathers. She scratched her head as she watched a child roughhouse with a puppy, dissolving into giggles at the licking tongue of the pup. Cursed dragon, threatening the serenity of the scene. A thread of bravery worked its way to her heart to rest next to her anger. She had skills in combat, why not use them to defend children such as these. She nodded and hummed to herself, if she survived, she would be a hero (not that she truly wanted to be, but it helped her in this moment of angry fear), and if she died, she would die defending children.

With a little more spring in her step, she started towards the main gate. It wasn't a long walk. Carlotta's daughter, Mila? was it? tried to get her to stop and talk, but she waved her off with a mumbled excuse and a promise to play later. Irileth was already there with a contingent of guards, finishing up what had been, no doubt, a rousing speech, for the men let out a loud shout that sounded slightly like 'For the Jarl'. She joined their ranks with a slight smile (that doubtless looked more like a grimace to the men unused to Khajiit expressions).

"Khajiit, remember what I told you, let us handle everything."

She was suddenly insulted. If Irileth didn't want her 'helping' then she must not look like she could do much damage. She fingered her bow in her anger, glaring at the elf woman from under her hood, growling slightly. She would fire arrows at the dragon, providing they did actually run into one, if only to spite the Dunmer.

"All right, men, let's go."

Out the front gate they went, running faster than they should. Bristar followed at a slightly more sedated pace, wondering why they weren't riding horses. As if to prove her wrong, they rushed to the stable and hurriedly mounted on the dark colored steeds, kicking the creatures for as much speed as they could give. She tutted and turned to the stable, nearly gaping what they had left her.

A shaggy, small, sturdy horse stood munching on the end of a carrot. She huffed to herself and quickly paid the man for the small gray gelding (only after he refused to let her take him, no matter how many times she told him that she _was_ with the contingent of guards). She mounted him and lightly squeezed her legs to ask for a canter. He surprised her by taking off at full gallop, nearly unseating her.

While they rode she could see smoke rising on the horizon. It looked to be coming from behind the tower. A scent hung in the air, one she couldn't quite place, but she was certain that she had whiffed before. Rider and mount caught up to the others soon after they had stopped by a rock pile. Already dismounted, the small herd of ground tied equines were beginning to graze casually. She dismounted and dropped the reins to her own mount. He nickered after her as she joined the others. Two of the younger guards snickered at her, which she ignored. One had to work with what they were given (or bought for themselves). The guard Irileth had sent forward (a man called Arnald), came back panting, shock written all over his face.

"The tower's on fire, I can't see any survivors."

Bristar could suddenly place the scent, burning wood... and flesh. Irileth wasted no time gawking at the guard, her orders were barked out in a voice that was exactly what the men needed.

"Spread out and search for survivors. The dragon could come back at any time, so be on the lookout."

She followed behind the group, her eyes and ears on the sky, on the lookout for the swooping form of a dragon. She had not seen anything by the time that she had reached the remnant of the tower.

The stairway up to the tower was on its side and a side had been caved in. She gaped in awe at the burn marks spread all over the otherwise unmarked stone. She stood in the middle of the circle that the fallen stonework had made and looked around, shivering despite the heat of the flames all around her. How could one creature create this?

She saw movement on the walkway leading up to the tower and hurried over. Without stairs she had to climb up the side of the broken stone and pull herself over the side of the impromptu wall. A helmless guard lay in the doorway clutching his side, where she realized the dragon had actually _bitten_ him. Blood stained the stone beneath him and he was trying his best to stave the flow but didn't have enough hands to stop it.

She dropped to her knees next to him, already reciting the beginning words to a healing spell. She poured all of her magicka into the spell, it didn't heal him fully, but it did enough for him to grab her arm and choke out some words.

"It just left," He coughed blood into his hand and tried to push her away, into the tower she realized with a short laugh. Anything that could create the destruction that littered the area around the tower could certainly destroy the tower itself. He went into a horrid coughing fit as Bristar dragged him into the tower, despite her own misgivings. "flew off with Hamling."

He coughed up more blood, she poured the mere amount of magicka that had grown in her again into him as healing. Her ears stuck straight up as she heard something familiar. She stood and walked to the doorway, feeling as if she were in a trance. Everything in her screamed to get away but her legs refused to move in the right direction. She paused in time to see a flash of red then a scaly hide pass by her vision. The heat of the dragonfire snapped her out of it and she scrambled back. Battle cries filled the air. It was surreal to hear the dragon roar.

Out of the corner of her eye Bristar saw the guard trying to get to his feet. Without thinking, she rushed back to his side and gently pushed him back down.

"Stay here, I'll come back and get you when this is over."

Her smile probably looked more barbaric than anything, but she gave it to him anyway. Something thudded against the side of the tower and the dragon roared again.

She rushed over to the stairs. Rather, what was left of them. It was easy to climb up the broken staircase. It was easy to pull herself over the lip of them and onto the tower roof. It took all of her strength to grab hold of her bow and put an arrow to its string.

The dragon wasn't in the air. She ran to the edge of the roof where the sound of combat was coming from to find the dragon breathing flame at the guards. Her mental image of a dragon - fuzzy since she hadn't really gotten a good look at the one at Helgen - was much different than the beast itself. It was far more magnificent. All iridescent scales and wing and claw. She would have fallen to her knees in awe were it not for the screams of the dying below her.

She drew the arrow back and aimed for the dragon's wing. She took a breath and then released.

The dragon roared the moment the arrow cut through the membrane. It had caught the guardsmen by surprise and had been able to keep them from their bows. It leaped into the air and twisted to find the insect that had hurt it so. Bristar gazed in awe, it was even more glorious up close. The wind from its wings hit her while it regarded her a moment. Deciding that the nuisance needed to be gone before it could hurt it again, it breathed in air and breathed out three words, and flame.

"Yol... toor shul."

She leaped to her right and landed in a roll, paw on the ground to steady herself. The fire was close enough to make her skin crawl. Rather than be frightened by her near death experience, she yowled at the dragon. An arrow was loosed into one of the large wings before she could find the time to think. The dragon regarded her as some sort of interesting trinket, a plaything.

"Petty mortal, why do you fight?"

It asked her in a definitively masculine voice. She stepped back, unsure of what strategy the beast might have. It landed on the edge of the tower and looked at the her with amusement. She noticed that the arrows the guards sent up had no effect on the large side scales they hit. The dragon snapped his jaws at her, laughing when she leaped back instinctively.

Angry, she pulled another arrow back on her bow and fired it at one of the great black eyes. It hit just below. The dragon roared, more words in that accursed language leaving its maw - she tensed for some sort of attack but none came - as it leaped into the air, fury in its voice. It clawed its face, trying to draw the arrow out. It succeeded only for a guardsman's arrow to strike the same place. Roaring, it leaped off the tower and unleashed a veritable maelstrom of fire upon the men below.

Seeing that his eyes were a weak spot, Bristar fired an arrow off while he lingered. Blood was dripping off his (was it right to call the dragon a male when she had no idea if it was or not?) hide from the little indents the arrows had made. He flew over her, great drops of blood splattering the roof and her. He landed on the lip of the roof, looking worse than he had the last time, arrows stuck from all angles.

"Your death will bring me honor."

He told her calmly, she wondered what he meant and fired her last arrow at him. Bristar dropped her bow and drew her daggers. It was foolish to run at the dragon, she would admit that, but she was cornered and Akatosh be damned if she was going to die without a fight. The dragon didn't understand what she meant to do until she was already leaping at his neck. Her purchase found, Bristar slashed at one of his wings when it came into reach, cutting through the membrane and sending the dragon into a fit of pain.

He roared and his hind legs slipped from the edge. The Khajiit grabbed onto the closest thing to her - which happened to be one of his spikes - to keep from falling to her death. A wild idea slipped into her mind and she put the dagger she had between her teeth and began to climb up the many spikes adorning his back.

The dragon found his footing and pushed himself onto the roof, nearly destroying the tower in the process. He tried to look back at her, but failed, as she was getting close to his head. He shook it but couldn't shake his well balanced rider. Bristar finally reached his head and could feel the softness of the scales beneath her feet. She grabbed one of the spikes on his head and clung to it as she took the dagger from her mouth. She stabbed downwards as many times as she could and as strongly as she could. The dragon roared one final time as she lept clear of the flailing wings and limbs.

"No," He shouted, roaring fire to the sky in his death throes. "Dovahkiin!"

He stilled and she couldn't believe that she was still alive and her tail was still attached. The smell of something burning caused her to look back at the dragon. Her eyes widened as before them, light blasted from the body and into her. Her chest tightened and she felt like screaming from the knowledge flooding into her. She fell to her knees beside the body, clutching her head in agony. She suddenly knew the details about flight, the different weak points on a dragon. All the while that word thrummed in the background.

_Fus, fus, fus, fus._ Bristar cried out, her head felt about ready to split. _I am fus, I am force. _

"You told me that already." She exclaimed softly; not knowing _who_ she was addressing, the dragon or the wall. "I already know."

_Fus is force, I am a shockwave, I am a strong gust, I force all other out of my way in my path. I fling my foes, I am fus, I am force._

The pain lessened and she became aware of her surroundings. Someone was shouting at her from the broken staircase. She looked in stunned amazement at the body before her. All the flesh and scales had been burned, leaving only the bleached white bones and a few scales that had fallen off. As if in a daze, she retrieved the arrows littering the ground like wildflowers in a field, putting as many as she could in her quiver. Exhaustion suddenly fell over her, along with pain. Her chest and sides hurt, along with about every other part of her.

"Are you all right? Khajiit?" That was Irileth's voice, and she sounded as concerned as a Dunmer could. Bristar wandered over to the rubble that was once the stairs. Irileth had climbed up as far as she could. "There you are, are you able to climb down?" At her hesitant nod, the hardened Dunmer's eyes softened, obviously knowing the after effects of the battle."Come down here, and we'll tend to your wounds." She turned to someone standing next to her. "Get Haldric out of here and to a healer, as quickly as you can."

She looked down at herself at the mention of wounds, which was a bad idea, and suddenly realized what a mess she was. Blood, both hers and the dragon's, stained every part of her. She had probably stabbed herself on some of the spikes when she had climbed the dragon, holes dotted her armor. She wasn't even sure that she was remembering correctly, she had _climbed_ a dragon?

The Khajiit nearly started to climb down the staircase before she looked over her shoulder at the skeleton. Surely someone would want to see the body up close. She strode purposefully over to the body.

_All right, fus, you're force, you should be enough to get this skeleton off the roof._

She opened her mouth and shouted for all she was worth, wishing instantly that she hadn't. It felt like someone was shoving a cow up her throat, she saw blue for the briefest of moments.

"Fus."

To her utter astonishment, the skeleton went flying over the edge amongst a blue shockwave. She ran over to the lip and stared in wonder at the skeleton that had just landed. Now slightly excited and able to ignore the pain, she rushed over to the 'steps' and climbed down the rubble. Irileth and the guards were outside already, probably staring at her handiwork.

She trotted - unable to do anymore than that - out the opening in the tower, it couldn't be called a doorway by any stretch of the imagination. The guards were all congregated around the skeleton, admiring the beast that they had helped to bring down.

"Dragonborn." One of the guards called to her. She looked at him, feeling like there was more to the word than she felt there was.

"You are the Dragonborn, body of a mortal and a soul of a dragon. 'Tis no wonder you made it look so easy."

One of the ones more versed in ancient legends told her. The others regarded her and the dragon skeleton with looks of awe.

"Enough of your silly legends."

Irileth told the men, barging into their midst, her horse following behind.

"You are not a Nord, Irileth, you don't know the power of a Dragonborn."

The guardsmen all looked to be in agreement on that.

"I see a dead dragon," Irileth pointed to the skeleton. "and know that we can kill them, none of this Dragonborn business." She turned to Bristar. "Dragonborn or not, you'd best hurry back to the Jarl, he'll be wanting to know what happened here today."

She nodded and turned for the long trek back to Whiterun. She stopped in amazement, the little gelding was still grazing, still thinking that he was ground-tied. Seeing how docile he was, she was more than pleased with her rushed 'purchase'. She never would have bought him had she been given another option, but she was starting to like the gray. She mounted and began to trot back to Whiterun.

It was as she was approaching the gates that a rumbling noise echoed across Skyrim, shaking the ground beneath her feet.

"Dovahkiin."

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><p><strong>AN:** I know that I added like... a lot to the fight with the dragon, just tell me if I went overboard and added too much. And lore peeps, please tell me if anything seems 'off', and I'll remedy it.

~Till next time-Duroflo~

Questions? Comments? Ask away, and I'll answer them!


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** Hullo, all! Sorry about the lateness, I've been writing an original story, and had a great streak of ideas, couldn't cater to all of my writings at once.

If you haven't noticed, sometimes my writing isn't consistent, that means that I wrote a part before or after the other, probably with a day in between, so, sorry if it bugs you.

(So, while I was writing this, I suddenly realized something about Lake Honrich - the big lake in the Rift - so if I make it bigger at some point that means I didn't catch it in my editing).

**Raven R: **Oh, man, your cousin is cruel! That probably would have ruined my play time for a while :). Delphine creeps me out too, I saw (and heard) her in Riverwood, then finished 'Bleak Falls Barrow' and saw her in Dragonsreach and was thinking 'Wait... She's familiar to me for some reason'.

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><p>Chapter Eight<p>

**17th of Second Seed, 4E 201**

"It seems I am something called 'Dragonborn'." Bristar told Jarl Balgruuf, still quite confused about this whole Dragonborn business, and the shout that felt like it had wrenched the ground out from below her feet. It had nearly spooked her gelding, whom she had yet to name; she was trying to think of something creative, instead of calling him Little One, as she had been doing. The Jarl sat in thoughtful surprise, she was actually a bit disappointed, she had hoped that he would exclaim something, or stand.

"So, it was you that the Gray Beards called." He mused, voice drifting off towards the end, she tilted her head and listened to him while keeping her eye on Proventus Avenicci. The Imperial's interest had been roused, though he didn't look it. "You must answer their call, go now to High Hrothgar, the Grey Beards will be able to see if you are truly the Dragonborn."

"My Jarl," Bristar scratched absently at some dried blood stuck to her arm. "I'm not entirely sure what a Dragonborn is."

"Ah," The Jarl nodded to himself. "I forget you are not from Skyrim, and aren't well versed in our legends. Have you heard of The Book of The Dragonborn?"

It reminded her of the book she had in her knapsack, which she had remarkably had the foresight to leave behind before traipsing off after a dragon. She dipped her head and he continued.

"The Dragonborn is one who had the soul of a dragon, but is stuck in the body of a mortal. You can focus your power into a Thu'um, or shout, one of my guards tells me you gave them a taste of it, what was the word?"

"Fus." She whispered softly, not sure if just speaking the word would be enough to trigger it. Power grew in her and she felt like coughing, a small blue wind left her mouth and rustled the furs settled on the Jarl's shoulders, he barely blinked. He rubbed his beard, clearly the subject was thought provoking for the Nord.

"Some shouts have been recorded, some haven't. You probably wouldn't be able to learn the words from a page in a book, the Gray Beards will teach you."

She nodded and waited for him to dismiss her, a habit she had grown into while in the court of the Mane, she was unsure whether it was a good habit or a bad one. He turned his attention to Proventus, who was protesting about her once again.

"My Jarl, how can we be sure that she is this 'Dragonborn," There was no doubt about the sarcasm in the man voice when he motioned to her while speaking. "She does not appear-"

"Hush, Proventus, now is not the time. If she were to give us a full demonstration this house would come down around us." She remembered the feeling of a cow coming up her throat and silently agreed with the Jarl. "Bristar, there is room in my court for a new Thane, it is an honorary title mainly, and you would have to own property in my city, but you would have a Housecarl."

_So, a Thane is much like the House Heroes back in Elsweyr_, _I do not wish to be one of them again, the first time was horrible._

"My Jarl," She licked her lips as she thought about the most polite way to decline. "I must politely and respectfully decline, I have no coin with which to buy a house, and I travel better alone. As much as I wish that I could remain and be your Thane, I am unable to at this time."

The Jarl nodded to her, understanding at least some of her flowery speech.

"I understand, perhaps when you have the gold, I do wish that I could give you the property, but that would be seen as weak. What will you be doing next?"

Bristar closed her eyes briefly as she actually put thought into her next move. Hadn't a guard mention that Riften had a Thieves' Guild? It would probably be best if she were to join immediately, it wouldn't do to steal something from them accidentally and have them on her bad side. But she did wish to know more about this new 'side' of herself that she had never known about before. Perhaps she could visit Riften first, to quickly get herself acquainted with the Guild, depending on if 'High Hrothgar' was close to Riften or not.

"I do want to know more about being Dragonborn, how do I get to High Hrothgar?"

"By way of Ivarstead, it should be on the map you bought from Belethor," She wondered briefly if he knew everything that went on in his Hold. "you will be climbing up a mountain the whole way so prepare to dress warmly." She looked down at the thick robe she had bought recently, she was wearing it instead of her armor for the meeting with the Jarl. "Ah, to climb the seven thousand steps again..."

She blinked once, seven thousand steps? That would take her a long time and a lot of effort to do, but it would be worth it to learn more.

"To be young." The Jarl seemed to just notice that she was still there. "Well, what are you waiting for? Hurry along, I have a Hold to run."

She bowed lightly and walked as sedately as she could out of Dragonsreach, her spirits rising with each step, all she had to do now was see where Riften was, and she could do that as soon as she gathered everything from her inn room, perhaps take a wagon? or were they called carriages here? bah, everyone had different names for everything, she preferred wagon, it was easier to say than carriage anyway.

* * *

><p><strong>20th of Second Seed, 4E 201<strong>

It took her three days to travel from Whiterun to Riften, with a quick overnight stop at Ivarstead on the second night. It was the third day, and Bristar hadn't seen a lake as big as Lake Honrich in many years (at least, it was big on the map, she was excited to see it later in the day). The night before, she had thought that it was a merely a river beyond the inn, but looking at it, the Khajiit could see that she was at the western end of a small lake that probably met up with Lake Honrich at some point. The fog rolling in off the small lake reminded her of her days as a sailor, the good times of her life, before all... _this_.

Dressed in her leathers, Bristar took a deep breath of the morning air as she left the inn, today felt like it would be a good day, and she didn't have many days that felt good from the start. She hoisted her knapsack over her shoulder, taking another deep breath before setting off for the 'stable'.

In all truth, Ivarstead had no stable, but Wilhelm had told her that she could use the spot behind the inn that had once been a stable, before it had collapsed a few years ago, as a shelter for her pony. She had been a little indignant that he called her _horse_ a pony. But Respin (the name she had decided to call the little horse, she had no idea if it actually meant something, but she liked the sound of it) had seemed cheerful at the sight of it, so she hadn't argued.

She quickly saddled Respin and slipped his bridle on, all the while he stood patiently chewing a mouthful of some grass that grew close enough for him to grab. She had to admit it to the Nords, they could breed some gentle giants, while Respin might look small compared to the other horses of Skyrim, he was actually just a tad bit bigger than the horses of Cyrodill, most of which were bred for speed, not sturdiness. She mounted him and settled amongst her bulging saddlebags, she had moved all the things she had kept in her knapsack and inn room into the waterproof bags. With a gentle tug on the reins and a click to her horse, the pair was off for Riften.

She let Respin have his head after they passed over the bridge, twisting in the saddle to get a view of the path to High Hrothgar. It would be a long climb, and she couldn't even see the peak through the snow clouds congregating around it. The gelding plodded along until she couldn't see the mountain because of the trees. The Rift - as she was led to believe the Hold was called - was beautiful, and a bit humid, or at least there was more moisture in the air than Whiterun. It looked like autumn around her, the tree's leaves were orange with a slash of red every here and there. But it was summer, Second Seed, the very beginning of the season, she hadn't seen such trees before. Perhaps the climate was just right for them and the red ferns that dotted the landscape.

The unlikely pair hadn't been plodding along for too long before she saw a group of three men and a woman traveling. The woman and one of the men were obviously nobles of some sort, gold glinted off their wrists and at their necks, their clothes were hideously extravagant and the sight of them made her want to laugh. The other two however, were entirely different. They were heavily armored and carried longswords and bows. Bristar pulled Respin up to a slow walk as she passed by them, matching their pace.

"Good morning, milord and lady."

She didn't know the proper greeting in Skyrim, but she could only be as polite as she knew how. The woman practically glared at her to go away, while her husband stared in open wonder at the Khajiit sitting astride a little gray gelding. The two guards were a bit more merry, they grinned openly at her, seeing the dismay in her eyes at the poor greeting from their two useless members.

"G'day Khajiit, what brings you to Skyrim? Or more importantly, the Rift?" The older looking of the two guards asked, his gray eyes beaming from his weathered face. The armor he wore was well used, with repaired dents and scratches in all across his front. His weapons had some chips in them, but were otherwise well cared for. He might have been handsome for all she knew.

She smiled at him in delight, she liked to talk to fellow travelers, it was a 'hobby' of hers, the state of mind of a traveler told well the state of the province.

"I have business from the Jarl of Whiterun, but first I am stopping in Riften to perhaps trade for some better leathers."

It might not have been the whole truth, but it wasn't a lie, her leathers had been badly beaten up in her two days on the road, wolves attacked her frequently, and several pelts - now dry - were rolled on the back of her saddle.

"You could fetch a fair price for those hides, provided you skinned the creatures rightly, and Grelka should still be running her stall in the marketplace. Or you could hire old Balimund to make you new leathers, ones that were made with a Khajiit in mind."

She had needed to cut a crude hole for her tail when she had first bought the armor, from his knowing smile, she supposed that he knew a little of her woes. The young guard looked between herself and the elder with excitement, this obviously being his first time 'out'. Perhaps the older one was a relative of some sort? His blue eyes sparkled and his armor was new; his weapons unused.

"Sound advice, thank you for it. What brings you along the road?"

'Along the road' was a common Khajiit term for traveling, or at least, it was common where she had been raised. She had no clue where or when it had started, but it seemed that every Khajiit she had met as a child would ask when she was going to go 'along the road'. The nobles began to walk faster, the man still staring at her (perhaps flabbergasted that she didn't refer to herself by her name only?), while the woman stuck her nose up in the air. The guards' pace quickened as well and Respin matched their pace evenly.

"Wedding in Solitude, cousin of the Emperor's, me and my nephew are protecting some... _attendees_."

He bobbed his eyebrows at her and she knew what he meant by 'attendees', they were trying to shimmy up to the Emperor by 'befriending' his cousin. It was a sad truth about being related to royalty, people would try to win your favor, so that you would talk about them to your royal relative. It had happened many times in the court of the Mane, twice to herself. She restrained herself from rolling her eyes, what would her uncle say about her childish behavior of late? He probably would pull her ear.

"Sounds amusing, you have a long way to go, and yet you travel in the wrong direction. Solitude is back to the west, and you travel towards Riften, why?"

The young one practically bounced as he shot an answer off as fast as he could talk.

"We started from Riften, but the lady forgot her essentials, we nearly made it to Ivarstead in half a morning, 'course we hired one of the skiffs to take us across Honrich, better than walking around, and we left early. But the skiff left long before the lady noticed, so we can't take that back. So we're walking-"

"Hush, lad," The elder interrupted fondly, shaking his head at the young Nord. "best not to tell it all to the fellow traveler, we don't wish to burden her with unneeded hearsay."

The boy clammed up faster than a... well... clam. He turned his unending energy to their surrounding, looking for imaginary threats. The elder huffed a laugh before turning back to Bristar.

"'Tis is as the lad says, exceptin' we started from Shor's Stone, milady was summering there, but then something about the mine seemed to make her weak, so the lord and her moved to Riften, of course the Thieves' Guild," A strange glint appeared in his eyes, and his voice softened ever so slightly, Bristar tilted her head, a Guild sympathizer? "took most of their spetims, but they kept enough to keep me and my nephew on as their guards. They have 'favors' they say they can pull to get more gold, but it matters not to me, I've always wanted to take the lad to Solitude, and this is as good a chance as any."

From what she had heard, Solitude was a huge city built on a natural arch, it had hundreds of citizens and housed the High Ruler of Skyrim, along with the Imperial Legion, it sounded amazing, but she was sure it had its bad spots.

"Could ya do me a favor, I see that your horse is fresh, and since Riften is only a morning and half a afternoon away on foot, perhaps you wouldn't mind delivering a note to my brother for me?"

"Ah sure, if you feel that you can trust me."

If she was going to go to Riften, home of the Guild, then she might as well help someone in the city, someone who somewhat obviously supported the Thieves of the city. They might put in a good word for her. He handed her a note written on stained, wrinkled paper. The handwriting was neat and had no sign of a flourish.

"It's going to a Nord named Brynjolf, tell him its from Brine and he'll understand. I'm sure he'll give you a couple septims for acting as messenger."

"Well, if I'm going to deliver this, I should be getting on my way." She flourished her hand at the two Nords first. "And good day to you too milord and lady."

The two ignored her as she asked Respin for more speed, the horse quickly made a distance come between the four and herself. Once they were out of sight, she pulled back gently on the reins until he was fast trotting awkwardly, she didn't want to run him hard. The pair trotted along in silence for a while, Bristar would have been talking to Repsin, a habit the Khajiit had acquired going along the long roads of Elsweyr. She had discovered that horses were great listeners and, if they were smart enough, could at least comprehend what she meant, depending on what language she talked to it in. She eventually started talking aloud, sometimes to Respin, but mostly to herself, talking to herself about what she was thinking about made things clearer.

"My mind keeps going back to the dragon fight. I know that most fighters would try to push that behind them, but I feel a strange sort of... triumph about it. Why do you think so, Respin?"

The gelding nickered in response, his ears turning back to listen to her. They plodded onwards, his hooves making a sharp sound against the stone road.

"I agree, it is best to not think about the past, but I can't help it, I've never fought a dragon before. It was actually fun, once I get past the fire and death and screams... and the teeth, as well as my scorched fur, it was fun. I've never climbed up my enemy before."

Respin shook his head and snorted. Bristar knew that anyone who looked on would think that she was crazy, but she honestly didn't care, it wasn't like she had an image to keep up.

"Fine, fine, I won't dwell on it. Dwell is such a fun word to say, and it has so many different meanings," She exclaimed, running off down a rabbit trail. "'I dwell in this cave' and... that's actually the only example I can think of." Bristar laughed. "Do you suppose that I should start talking like one of my kinsmen?" She deepened her Khajiit accent. "Bristar does not know whether it is a smart thing to do, going along this road, perhaps there are bandits, or thieves, or worse, the Thalmor."

Whilst most of her kith and kin were completely taken in by the Thalmor after the Void Nights, her family hadn't been. Her family had watched the sky for generations, and had seen a Void Nights much like the one a hundred years before. Masser and Secunda had disappeared from the sky for two years, exactly like this one. Of course, if they had tried to stop the changes that the Thalmor brought on with their new found alliance with the Khajiit, they would have most likely found their throats slit one night. She shuddered and turned her thoughts to happier places, and happier times.

It wasn't long before Lake Honrich came alongside the road, and a bit of fog still writhed across it despite the noonday sun shining down on it and the slight breeze that had been steadily growing all day long. Across it she could just make out Riften. The calls of sailors and fishermen echoed across the surface of the lake, and the familiarity brought a smile to her lips. She could see the fishing skiffs darting across the water, their sails filled with breeze. She knew exactly what they were looking for, dragonflies. Dragonflies flew around above fish, in groups of three to five, Bristar didn't know why, but it was the first thing she had learned about fishing, with or without a boat. A couple of the boats trailed nets behind them slowly as they went, these were salmon skiffs. Salmon didn't 'cluster' unlike the smaller fish that were, in her opinion, much tastier.

The farther around the lake she got, the more looming Riften looked. It looked... dark, to say the least. It was shrouded in fog that didn't want to go away like the fog on the lake already had. The city appeared to be half on the water, and half off. Three docks spread out across the water, and behind it she could see several warehouses and quite a few buildings. Bristar urged Respin to a faster pace, she was getting hungry now, and all she only had a loaf of bread in her bags, not very filling on its own.

The fog around the city soon surrounded her, it muffled Respin's hoofbeats and made seeing anything difficult, so it came as a complete surprise when a stable _appeared_ out of the fog, so suddenly that she had to pull up quick to stop the gelding. He danced in place a moment at the quick stop, having grown used to plodding along. In a smooth motion, she dismounted and lead him over to a water trough. He drank thirstily - and noisily - for a time. She half felt like joining him, her mouth was parched and so were her waterskins, she should really start carrying more than two, but she wasn't used to having a horse. He finished and she dropped his reins, ground tying him next to a patch of grass, which he started to happily munch on.

She walked up to the guards, hoping against hope that they wouldn't stop her like in Whiterun the first time. Her hope was crushed.

"Hey, you, before you can enter the city, you have to pay a visitor's tax."

Visitor's tax? That was just silly, in times like these a visitor's tax was something you didn't want, especially when a merchant could simply go to a village or a city without a wall and get just as much for his wares. She narrowed her eyes at him in though, a paw laying on a dagger in thought. She was sure that if she were able to see his expression, he would be looking at her at least slightly differently

_Obviously a shakedown. _She thought, looking over at his, obviously bored, companion, who did nothing to support or refute his claim. _Most definitely a __shakedown._

"This is obviously a shakedown," She drawled, lazily flicking her tail. "how 'bout you let me by and I won't tell your superiors."

She didn't word it as a question, and he didn't take it as one. He nervously backed away and motioned her past, she happily complied, slipping through the crack in the gates and into the city beyond.

* * *

><p><strong>Important Note:<strong> I took great liberty in my artist's license in this chapter. Namely, I did slightly change around the size of Lake Honrich, I make it go farther west, but not by much, its not like I made it go out to Ivarstead or anything like that, I just make it bigger, so just letting you know if it seemed strange while you read.

**A/N: **So, it actually is true in Skyrim about the dragonflies, they do fly around above the fish, I noticed it after about the fifth time of me going out for alchemy. There's usually a swarm of about three dragonflies, and a school of about five fish.

Oh, and I completely made up the part about the salmon skiffs, I don't know anything about salmon fishing on a small scale, so artistic license!

About the Void Nights: It actually did happen, and I'm sure that it probably happened before (astronomical mumbo jumbo and all). So it didn't seem such a stretch that a family in Elsweyr watched the skies and had records. Thus, Bristar's family is born.

_Reviews are like puppies, they fill you with joy... or so I've heard other __writers say... I think that they forget about the part where puppies leave 'presents' on the carpet. _

In other words, reviews are like sunshine on a cloudy day ( an analogy I prefer)!


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** G'day, mates!

So, I'm going to start at least 'monthing' the chapters, in case I ever decide to do another chapter like this one. Here's a quick overview of the month's in a Nirn year:

** Morning Star** is the first of the 12 months in the Elder Scrolls universe. It is considered to be a Winter month. (by our definition).

**Sun's Dawn** is the second month of the year. It is traditionally a Spring month (by our definition).

**First Seed** is the third month of the year. It is a Spring month.

**Rain's Hand** is the fourth month of the year. It is the final month of Real Life Spring.

**Second Seed** is the fifth month in the Elder Scrolls year. It is also the first month of what we would define as Summer.

**Mid Year** is the sixth month of the year. As the name suggests, it occurs halfway through the year. It is also the second month of Summer.

**Sun's Height** is the seventh month of the Elder Scrolls calendar. It is the final month of Summer.

**Last Seed** is the eight month of the Elder Scrolls calendar. It is the first month of Fall (Autumn).

**Hearthfire** is the ninth month of the Elder Scrolls calendar. It is the second month of Fall (Autumn).

**Frostfall** is the tenth month of the Elder Scrolls calendar. It is the third and final month of Fall (Autumn).

**Sun's Dusk** is the eleventh month of the Elder Scrolls calendar. It is the first month of Winter.

**Evening Star** is the final month of the Elder Scrolls calendar. It is the second month of Winter.

* * *

><p>Chapter Nine<p>

****21st of First Seed, 4E 201**  
><strong>

It was too cold, far too cold. She opened her eyes and shivered, where was she? She was propped up against a tree and someone was patting her cheek to wake her. She blinked her vision cleared. Snow swirled in fantastic patterns around her and her waker, the wind propelling it stung her eyes, she blinked again and focused on the man in front of her. Looking closer she saw that he wasn't a man, per say, but a Dunmer. How she knew what he was was beyond her current mental state, she couldn't even remember how she had gotten to be leaned up against the tree. He looked as concerned as a Dark Elf could look. She blinked again when his lips moved and she couldn't hear anything but a ringing in her ears. She listened harder and could finally hear his voice, even though it sounded like he was talking at the end of a tunnel.

"Are you hurt, Imperial? I was walking along and saw you here, what happened?"

What _had_ happened? She looked down at herself and at her surroundings. She was wearing a tunic that looked familiar, but she couldn't remember ever seeing it before. The frozen land around her was familiar as well, but at the same time she knew that she had never been here before. She tried to wrack her brain for at least her name, but none of the words that bounced around in there made any sense.

"Can you talk?"

The Dunmer asked patiently, seeing the confusion furrowing her eyebrows together. She shook her head hesitantly, not truly wishing to see if she could. She understood what he was saying, and his voice was getting clearer, but details were still a little blurry. She couldn't tell the color of his eyes, or his hair. She just knew that he was a Dark Elf.

"We'll try later, are you hurt?"

The question brought a throbbing pain down her right arm to her attention. She looked at it and saw the blood that was either dried or frozen against her tanned skin. He followed her gaze and gasped, carefully picking up the limb and studying the cut on her bare lower arm. He held a hand over the cut and - as an afterthought - looked up at her to give her a kind smile and a reassurance.

"Don't worry, I'm a healer. It will tingle."

Golden light swirled from his hands and down into her arm. Feeling besides the pain returned to her and she could feel pinpricks of warmth return to her. She muffled a cry of pain and looked at her savior. He didn't cut his black hair like other Dunmer, and didn't wear it in those ridiculous horsetails on the top of his head. His eyes were red, and reminded her of the illustrations of a Daedra she had seen once (but where?). But he looked kind despite them.

"Does that feel better?"

"Aye." She managed to croak out, her voice sounding more like a man's than a woman's. He smiled happily at that and stood, giving her a full look of the height of the elf. She felt like she was staring up at a giant.

"You should be able to stand now, here." He held a hand down to her and she took it, her muscles screamed at her from misuse. "Be careful." He told her cautiously, watching her carefully as he helped her up.

It was a slow process to get her up. Her muscles were stiff with the cold and protested greatly to their treatment. The Dunmer was patient, and knew exactly what to do as she slowly stood. She swayed when she finally got on her feet. He wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, he had gotten it from his horse, which she hadn't noticed before. It warmed her some but didn't banish the deeply set cold in her.

"I am Thasisemantrum, but you may call me Thasi. You are?"

She frowned and tried to remember something, anything that might give her a clue about her name, but she came up entirely blank, it was as if someone had wiped her memory clean.

"I-" She stuttered. "I-I don't know."

He nodded as if he had expected the answer.

"It happens sometimes, I'm sure you'll start remembering soon." She gave him an incredulous look, sprinkled with concern, which made him chuckle. "Now, since you can't seem to remember your name, and I can't keep calling you an Imperial, we'll just have to give you one."

"That sounds... smart." Her voice became more feminine the more she used it, and her throat was slowly starting to warm up.

"Aye," He was still smiling at her. "I have a few names that would fit you. Uyoya, Larksper, Kordyyn-"

"That one, that last one," For some reason Kordyyn stood out to her, she felt like she had heard it before. "I like Kordyyn."

Thasi looked surprised, but it passed as quickly as it came. It puzzled Kordyyn for a moment, but she wasn't quite ready to actually think. He led her to his horse and helped her to mount up. It was hard, her balance had yet to return to her, if she did have any balance. She was constantly having to shift her weight, luckily the Dunmer's horse was a patient old mare.

"Windhelm is close by- but wait, do you even know where you are?"

She shook her head, concentrated on staying on top of the gentle giant of a horse.

"You're in Skyrim, Kordyyn, the top of Tamriel, home to the Nords," A bit of venom crept into the kind Dunmer's voice. "great behemoths of men, they drink nothing but mead."

_They sound barbaric._ She thought, shuddering even under the blanket, it was cold again. She clapped her hands to her arms and started rubbing vigorously, trying to banish the cold. Her tunic was too thin and the sleeves didn't go down to her forearms, and she didn't have anything covering her black hair. She started slipping off the horse without her clutching the horn on the saddle. She stopped her rubbing and grabbed onto the horn again, gripping it for all she was worth. The Dunmer was talking about Windhelm again, saying something about the Gray Quater and a Jarl Ulfric, but his voice was drifting again, it was muffling. She slumped forward on the saddle as all strength left her limbs.

* * *

><p><strong>22nd of Second Seed, 4E 201<br>**

Kordyyn took a deep breath of the wintry air of Windhelm, tempered with the smell of the slums that were called Gray Quarter. She looked around the place that she now called home. Being an Imperial had practically became her death warrant in Windhelm, home to the Stormcloak uprising, and 'The True High King' Ulfric.

It had been nearly two months since Thasi had found her on the side of the road, two months of learning to function without a mental memory of how to do daily things. After she had become physically healthy, Thasi had decided to see what she had been in her 'previous life', so they had at first tried magic. She had failed miserably, and was unable to cast even a simple fire spell. They had moved on to scholarly pursuits, scribework and foreign languages. They had discovered that she actually knew a little bit of Ehlnofex, but not enough to be considered even a student, just a few words here and there. Thasi had deduced that her father was a scholar.

When they moved on to weapons, however, she had excelled. Her muscle memory could remember how to do so much. She was excellent at daggers, and pretty much everything that was a blade, she could wield a shield, but not very well. Anything like a mace or an axe was too bulky for her taste. She was good at crafting armor and weapons, and improving them, and was making decent coin as a tradeswoman. Kordyyn had learned, however, that the Nords wouldn't accept her crafts, and so she sold them to the Khajiit caravans and traders that came through every few weeks.

She could tell that Thasi didn't like that she was so good with weapons. He was a peaceful Dunmer, and while he didn't go on and on about the hours she spent building her endurance back up, she could see that he didn't approve of bloodshed. She didn't bother asking him why, stories about his past were few and far between.

Kordyyn took another deep breath and brought her mind to the present. She was going out to get some meat for them. The money her crafting brought in was more than enough for them to live comfortably and Thasi had time to pursue whatever it was he did without her. She strode out of the Gray Quarter cautiously, she had been attacked by a Nord who's daughter had been killed in the war. She had barely escaped out of his grasp to flee back to the Dark Elves. She had learned to be more careful when she left now.

She looked around and, seeing no Nord besides the beggar huddled next to the fire, darted out and across the square. Her endurance had increased greatly due to the vigorous training she had put herself through in the last month. It didn't take her long to dart up the steps and into the market square. Heat hit her as she passed by the forge, the forge master, she hadn't gotten around to memorizing his name, barely glanced up from his word. The attender for one of the stalls for produce greeted her with a hearty shout, however, seeing a recurring consumer.

He chatted to her some while she bought cabbage, carrots and potatoes, along with some tomatoes. She learned that a trader from Whiterun that dragons had been seen flying over the mountains. A harsh gust suddenly whipped up, slapping her loose hair against her face. Kordyyn hurriedly paid for her basketful of produce and wrapped meat, the cold biting into her skin. Seeing her discomfort, the Nord quickly took her money and bid her a 'fine day', how any day this cold could be fine was beyond her. Later on she could warm up by practicing with her sword. She hurried back towards home.

She was just passing by the arch when she heard a Dark Elf's voice, definitely female. She was talking with a child. Curious, Kordyyn peeked down the street they were talking on. Under the Aretino house, the Dark Elf was admonishing one of the Nord children, a Cruel Sea, the Cruel Sea family didn't mind the Dunmer as much as the other Nord's did.

"I heard that Aventus is back. Is it true? Is he back from Riften?"

She had heard the sad story, of course, the Aretino family had all died and their boy had been sent to an orphanage in Riften, to remain there until he was sixteen. She listened closely, her curiosity piqued.

"Hush, child, don't listen to rumors."

"But 'tis not a rumor, I heard the guards talking, and they said that he's doing the Black Sacrament-"

"Aye, he is here, but I wish to hear nothing more about this Black Sacrament business. Now, run along."

The child grumbled to himself but moved away with the Dunmer. Kordyyn watched them go before she looked at the door to the house. She should stop the lad, there was no telling who he wanted dead, and he would only get in trouble. Hesitantly, she stepped up to the door. A jiggle of the door knob, to her _great surprise,_ revealed it was locked. She took a lockpick from her pocket, something that Thasi didn't' know is that she could also pick locks rather proficiently, and picked the lock quickly enough for it to look like she had a key. Not that there was anyone around to see her. She slipped the door open and smoothly entered.

"Sweet mother, Sweet mother, send your child unto me, for the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear." The sound of a child's voice saying the Black Sacrament over and over chilled her to the bone. A sound that she felt she recognized filled her ears, a pounding sound, a dagger thrust into a wooden floor.

She crossed the living space and saw that the child had been living on cabbage ever since he had been back, she set the basket down on a table in the corner and set the produce on it, seeing a note on the floor she picked it up and was about to set it on the table when she saw that it was from the Jarl. Hearing no indication that she had been heard, Kordyyn opened it and read the horrible message it contained. When she had finished, she slapped it down on the table and strode into the room that _it _was being performed in.

It was a gruesome scene to look in on. The child kneeled just outside of a circle of candles, a dagger in his hand; a skeleton, a heart, and what looked to be a chunk of human flesh were arranged in the circle. The heart in the ribs of the skeleton, and the flesh sitting on the spine, she shuddered when he thrust the dagger again into the floor. Kordyyn stood there silently and waited to be noticed by the child, but it didn't looked like he would be seeing her any time soon, he was focused on doing _it_. She cleared her throat, looking past the child to the wall beyond.

"You came," He cried, standing hurriedly, she saw instantly that he was an Imperial, like her. "I got all the stuff and did it, and I did it for a long time, but you finally came."

_He thinks I'm part of the Dark Brotherhood,_ She thought, blinking in surprise. _do I look the part of a cold hearted assassin?_

"Oh, you don't have to talk, I know what to do next. My family died, and they sent me away to Riften, to Honorhall Orphanage. The headmistress is called Grelod the Kind, but she isn't kind, she's cruel. I escaped there, but I want you to kill Grelod the Kind, and rescue all the other children."

_A cruel headmistress, why does that sound so familiar_. The feeling didn't leave her. _Was I orphaned?  
><em>

"I'll pay you when she's... gone."

Kordyyn nodded briskly and left the doorway, her heart heavy in her chest. If the Brotherhood sent another assassin to talk to the boy, he would be most confused. But, if she did fill out the contract, then she would save the boy all this trouble, and rid Tamriel of another cruel woman. If there were more children in Honorhall... No child deserved to be treated cruelly. She crept out of the huge, empty house, her heart aflutter with excitement. She had a purpose now, a purpose which Thasi wouldn't like, but it was a purpose nonetheless.

* * *

><p><strong>23rd of Second Seed, 4E 201<strong>

It hadn't taken her long to get to Riften, the hard part had been convincing Thasi that she was merely going for trading purposes. He had grudgingly let her go, but not before wringing a grudging promise to stay out of trouble from her. Kordyyn took a deep breath of the foggy air. Riften was so strange, always shrouded by fog. She had been in the city for a few days already, scouting around for how many guards were in the city, how fast they responded to crimes (they were quick, annoyingly so), the layout of the city from the orphanage to the gates. She was visiting the orphanage today, to see if it had a back exit that she could scurry out of.

She bought an apple from the produce cart next to the Bee and Barb and made her way through the market. Even the sign looked cruel, though it could have been the morning light hitting the fog just right. She stood a moment and thought. There would be no turning back if she did this, she could be marked as a murderer for life, a fugitive, hunted. But if this Grelod was as bad as Aretino made her sound then she would be doing these children a favor. Mind made up - and she wasn't actually planning on doing the deed today, she pushed the door open quietly and entered the building.

It was poorly lit in Honorhall, and smelled like smoke and mold. There was sparse furniture in the room - she absently noticed that the floor was spotless. It took but a second for her to realize that she could hear a woman's voice shouting just around the corner.

"...and I don't want to hear anymore about this adopting business. You'll never be adopted so long as I live."

Kordyyn stood there a moment; a woman's face, cruelly twisted and a wicked gleam in her eye, flashed before her mind's eye.

"_Who would want to adopt a_ worthless_ child like you?"_

She _knew_, in that moment, with utmost certainty, that she was an orphan. It brought a sad sense of elation to her. Kordyyn actually _remembered_ something.

"Hroar!" Grelod's shrill voice cut through her elation like a scalpel. "Did I say that you could touch that?"

The sound of flesh hitting flesh rang in Kordyyn's ears, raising her ire faster than a frost troll could regenerate. Rage filled her. Her hand fell on a throwing knife stuck in her belt. She drew it and glided down to the doorway that the horrid sounds were coming from, her movements controlled and graceful. It took less than a thought for the knife to fly through the air and at the old woman standing amidst a small group of children, a young boy in her hold. Grelod didn't even have time to feel for it stuck out of her neck before she fell back, dead. The children huddled together and stared at the body.

"Is she dead?"

One of them asked, breaking the young woman standing next to them out of her trance.

"I-I think so."

Kordyyn blinked and came out of whatever profession trance she had fallen into. Something in her told her to retrieve the knife, remove the evidence, bribe the witnesses, she ignored it. While the attention in the room was still on the body, she fled the orphanage.

Her mind caught up with the events when she was back in her room at the inn. She had just killed a person. Another human being. An old woman at that. She should feel ashamed, guilty, she should probably have been losing the contents of her stomach into the chamber pot. Thrasi had even told her a few stories of his time in a skirmish, the first man he had killed, how wracked he had been with emotion. But she couldn't feel anything other than satisfaction. No evidence, unseen by any of the children.

With a wide grin, she laid down on her bed, a laugh escaping her lips.

A job well done.

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><p><strong>AN:** I really meant to have this out way sooner, but life gets in the way. Tell me if I killed it, because I have a tendency to think an idea is great, when it isn't.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** Salut, all.

* * *

><p>Chapter Ten<p>

**23rd of Second Seed, 4E 201**

It wasn't that often that Za'phriel met someone who could best her in a sword match. While the Bosmer were indeed much lighter than other races - her kind ran around in treetops, for crying out loud - and were more suited for the bow, they could be very good with other weapons, her own father had preferred a battleaxe. It was even less often that she found herself bested by a human. That Vilkas was a Nord only slightly dimmed her disgust with herself. But here she was in the courtyard behind Jorrvasker, hands on her thighs as she tried to get as much air in her lungs as possible. It should be forbidden to wear that much armor, and she wasn't used to not fighting to the death, it was how she had been taught. The hard part was trying to not actually hurt him, which was harder than actual fighting. She regretted having ever thought that the Companions were the place for her.

"Come on, elf, you couldn't hurt me." _Bosmer, Wood Elf, whichever you prefer, _ She thought to herself, glaring at the Nord's taunts. _but do _not_ use the generic term, if you must, call me a mer.__ And did you just say I can't hurt you? Oh, no, mate, I could very much so hurt you, if I weren't so trying to not hurt you._

That thought confused even her, she narrowed her eyes and picked up her greatsword. Thinking back on it now, she really should have chosen her shortswords, or her dirks, or maybe her longsword. But no, she had decided on a _greatsword_, she couldn't block worth anything with it, it was so cursed heavy. Well, she would just have to make do, like she always made do. Hefting the heavy blade up, Za'phriel assumed a ready stance while the Nord glared at her, his thoughts clear in his expression. Of course if the Nord hadn't been glaring at her, he would have seen that she held herself differently. His taunts had worked, she no longer cared if she hurt him, after all, hadn't he told her she couldn't hurt him before they had started?

She moved forward with a simple strike, testing his defenses as if she hadn't been fighting him before. He blocked it easily and almost threw her off balance. With an angry huff, she adjusted her grip to farther up on the blade and changed her fighting style.

There were four fighting styles that she used primarily. The aggressive Mammoth, a style that favors hard hits to daze its opponents, much like a real mammoth does, and taking hits on your armor. Then the quick Mudcrab - she had no idea why they were all name for animals - with light jabs meant to wear down your opponent, she only ever used it when she knew she was stronger than her opponent. The mauling Bear, that required that the attacker be heavier than the defender, she didn't ever use it because she didn't have the weight on her _to_ use it. And her favorite, the Wolf. The Wolf darted in and hacked a few times before darting out, before her opponent would even know that she was there, this style mostly used feints, to keep her opponent guessing. The style could be used in any situation, against any enemy, and she had always come out triumphant. There were more styles out there in the world, but she knew all that she needed to know with these four, she did sometimes mix in styles that _weren't _named after animals, but that was very rare.

Za'phriel darted at him and swung her blade as if for an upper body strike, which he moved to block, before switching to strike his leg. Her blade clanged against his armor and the shock reverberated up her arm, she was use to it by now. Vilkas was knocked off balance, and since he wasn't a Bosmer couldn't catch his balance like she could. He was up on his feet in an instance though, blocking her next strike, or at least, blocking where he thought her next strike would be. Sticking to true Wolf fighting, she didn't go for the obvious attack, instead Za'phriel slipped around him while he was getting up and swung at his side as he was turning. Fortunately for her, she had swung at the side that he wasn't holding his blade with, otherwise he would have been easily able to block it.

Her hit came as an entire surprise to both Za'phriel and Vilkas. She pressed her advantage and struck with a flurry of blows, too fast for him to block them all. When it looked like he was catching on to her pattern, she jumped back, blocking sloppily. Vilkas - and indeed the Companions that had come to watch - looked at her in a new light, before they had all been bored with it. She saw septims pass hands and a betting pool soon sat on a small table. Concentrating back on her opponent, she managed to somehow block an overhead blow and duck under his hand as he did something she had never seen before. She would need to change her style soon, he was catching on far quicker than other Nords had.

Za'phriel stood tall and changed from the crouching Wolf, to the proud Mammoth. Her armor was well made, it would be able to take the hits. She knew that she had thrown Vilkas off with the new stance, he was warily circling her while she turned to meet him. Several cheers were made from the Companions watching, some for Vilkas, some for 'The Wood Elf'. She grinned ferally and 'waded' into battle. Za'phriel swung with all her strength overhead, breaking through his block and staggering him. She followed up with a switch to fighting like a bear - even though Vilkas was heavier - and hit him on either side. She brought him to his knees. Rather than staying close to him, she paced back a few steps, she knew several styles with several moves that required that the attacker be on the ground to use them.

Vilkas stood and sheathed his blade on his back, a yield. Za'phriel did the same but warily stayed away from him, it wouldn't do credit to her father's name to be bested by a sore loser.

"I haven't been almost bested in a long time," _Almost? I won against you, mate, fair and square, and I nearly cut your head off in the process._ "I suppose you're good enough to be in our ranks. But you're just a new blood. Here," He handed her his sword, which had several nicks in it from their fight, she imagined hers did too. "take this up to Eorlund, and be careful, its worth more than you are."

Huh, she had yet to meet any blade that was worth a hundred thousand septims, her family fortune, of which she was the heir. She didn't mention it and merely nodded and took the steel. In her own opinion, elven weapons, or rather Bosmer weapons, were more affective than even Skyforge Steel, which she had used before. Bosmer weapons weren't made like Altmer weapons, the golden ones made of moonstone. Instead, Bosmer weapons were made from a metal found only in Valenwood, and even the Altmer - their 'allies' - didn't know about it. The raw ore had to be melted at an extremely high heat for a long time before it even could be used. Then it was made by the best blacksmith they had while other elves enchanted it while it still glowed with heat. The blades were always made with specific people in mind, and they were always made to look different, in a simple way. Her blades had runes down the side declaring who she was, she had more sharp pointy objects than most people. The downside was that they looked no stronger than an iron weapon, however they were hard to nick, and easy to repair.

Whilst Za'phriel had been thinking about her blade, which was definitely worth more than she was, she had made it up to the Skyforge. Eorlund was working the grindstone, its rasp hurting her ears. To her, the Skyforge was nothing special, her own people had a hidden, underground forge - where they worked their metal - that was not only bigger, but hotter, and more impressive looking. But she would never mention it to the Nords, they were a might touchy on the subject. She tapped Eorlund gently on the grindstone to get his attention. As he turned, she leaned Vilkas' blade against the small wall close to him.

"Vilkas wanted me to take this to you." She told him quietly, checking quickly to make sure that the steel wasn't about to fall down and slice her booted foot off.

"Ah, so you're the new blood." He stood from his grindstone and wiped his sweaty hands on a strip of cloth he had stuck in his belt. He held a hand out for her to shake and she took it.

"I watched you beat on Vilkas, haven't seen fighting like that in years. Ever since I met a Wood Elf like you when I was but a lad. But, I mustn't dwell on the past. A bit of advice, don't take anything they say personally, we haven't had a new blood in a while. Don't let them push you around."

She nodded hesitantly and turned to go, a breeze lifted the black hair that wasn't in a braid and trailed it along her neck, it dried the sweat on her skin and cooled her a bit, she welcomed it and stood still a moment, enjoying the sunshine and breeze. The grindstone started up behind her and the rasp of a blade being sharpened filled the air around the Skyforge, it was actually rather welcome. She fingered her blade and looked back at the forge, surely it would have the items she needed. Za'phriel stood there debating on whether she should go back to the Bannered Mare and get her supplies, or ask Eorlund if he had what she would need. Deciding that she might as well ask, she walked back over and tapped Eorlund on the shoulder again, she had to admit, he was a very patient man.

"Do you, perhaps, have a whetstone?" She asked as politely as she could, talking was not her strong suit.

"I'm a blacksmith of course I have a whetstone." He didn't say it as gruffly as it came out, and she was getting used to the deep voices of men, so she wasn't as easily offended as she would have been a week ago, had it only been a week? So much had happened it felt like eons. She dug in her coinpurse for a few septims while he dug in a bag at his side for a whetstone. He accepted the coins without remark, and with a quick word of thanks she sat on the wall, drawing her blade out and laying it across her knees.

Fixing the nicks took longer than normal, Za'phriel couldn't keep her eyes off the beautiful landscape around her. Her vantage point was amazing, she could see not only almost all of Whiterun, but most of the country around it. She ran the whetstone down her blade and looked around again, taking a deep breath of the crisp, clean air. This place wasn't as warm as Valenwood, but it was refreshing to be away from migratory trees.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Note: I know nothing about actual swordplay, everything I write I've either read somewhere else, seen in a movie, or heard about. So, if anyone who reads this takes fencing or anything like that and is like 'She got it all wrong' yeah... Artistic License, and a fantasy world.

On another note: Sorry about the lateness, I had no ideas for this, so I sat down this fine Saturday morning and wrote it in like... eh... a couple hours.

Oh, and I just noticed that all my characters are female... (Well, not just noticed...) Sorry 'bout that, this is the way I made my characters, and I don't usually play guys.

**EDIT 3/8/12:** Fixed a few mistakes.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** Salut, all.

* * *

><p>Chapter Eleven<p>

**23rd of Second Seed, 4E 201**

Riften was a very interesting town. At least, at night it was. Bristar adjusted her grip on the wall and waited for the guard below her to move; he had nearly caught her in the act of breaking into the Pawned Prawn. Her coinpurse had been lifted from her earlier that day, and she needed a few septims to rent a room for the night, else she would have to sleep in the middle of the market, and that didn't bode well.

She looked down at the guard in frustration, he wasn't moving. Growling low in her throat, she fished a rock out of the belt she wore across her chest - she called it her distraction belt - and flung it at the corner of the Bee and Barb. The guard went running towards the sound, Bristar watched him go with a grin, worked every time. Silently, she pulled herself up onto the roof and padded without any noise to the back of the building, there had to be a back entrance, or a window, that she could climb through.

After inspecting every corner and seeing nothing but windows too small for even her lean build to fit through, she sighed in defeat and dropped down from the roof into an alley between the Prawn and another store, a weapons store. She was tempted for a moment to raid it, but decided to not tempt Fate, or Lady Luck. Grumbling under her breath at the sordid half night - her only comfort was that the night was only half over, surely she could find some place to raid - she meandered down the small street.

As Luck would have it, she was wandering around the market when she saw it, the potion stall, unmanned, like all the other stalls, but the potion stall caught her fancy. Rubbing her paws together for warmth, she kept her eye on the beggar sleeping close by and slipped behind the stall. There wasn't a strongbox in sight, but that didn't bother her. She tapped the sides of the stall and was rewarded with a hollow sound on the right. Grinning, Bristar ran her paw over the wood and sensitive fingers easily found the pressure plate. With a happy hum, she pressed it in and was rewarded with the whirr of gears turning, a portion of the wall moved in and to the side, revealing a hidden compartment. A few moments later, it was a much richer Khajiit that slipped the wood over the compartment and stood, counting out enough septims for a room.

She didn't really want the room to sleep in, she just needed there to be an illusion of her being asleep in the inn while she raided a couple of the richer homes, like that one of Mjoll the Lioness, or was it her 'faithful' companion's? Bristar had already forgotten, if it didn't have to do with her interests, she didn't remember. The Bee and Barb was filled with light - from the outside it looked like some strange bug, with its balconies and and windows facing the south - and raucous laughter suddenly burst out, she assumed that some tale had tickled the patrons. Before entering, she removed the belt across her chest and fastened it around her waist, except she put the side with the pouched on the inside, making it look like a normal belt. The cold suddenly bit into her now that she wasn't moving or focused on a raid. The inn was looking even more inviting than it had the first time she had seen it earlier that evening. More laughter drifted to her and, not wanting to miss out, she pushed the door open and hurried in.

The inn was nice and warm, much different than the outside. Bristar scanned the crowd for a moment, recognizing the armor vendor - whose wares were not only utterly hideous, but poorly made - sitting in a corner, brooding over a tall tankard of what could only be an alcohol of some sort. The jewelry vendor sat at the bar, talking to the fellow Argonian. When her gaze fell on the man sitting close to the fireplace, Bristar couldn't help but grin, the potion vendor. A quick glance around the room at the other patrons showed a crowd around some mage telling tales of his exploits. Half looked drunk, and the rest were well on their way.

Still grinning madly, she plopped into a chair close to him, but not so close as to be too close. It was a bad habit of hers, she liked to sit next to people she had stolen from or was going to steal from. It was one reason why she didn't like guild jobs, no time to enjoy the irony of listening to someone complain about being robbed. Of course, he didn't know that he had been stolen from yet, she would love to see his expression when he found out. When one of the - was waiter the correct term? it was in Cyrodiil, she would settle for waiter - waiters came close, she hailed him.

"Greetings, how can I be of service."

The Argonian was obviously trying to be civil to her, she was after all a Khajiit, they might as well be mortal enemies, at least, in her kin's mind they were. She had never truly bothered with all this 'race' stuff, they were all literate, they could all communicate, they just looked different.

"I would like some meat, cheese, and bread, and if you could toast it together for a few minutes I'll add in more coin."

He accepted her money without responding and a few minutes later Bristar was happily munching on toasted cheese and a warm slab of meat, all on some wonderful bread. She paid him a little more for his trouble and he obviously avoided touching her. Holding the 'Toasted Mreesed' - as she called it - with one paw, she stroked her tail with the other, marking that she would have to groom it later, there were a lot of snags and burs in it. Bristar chanced a glance at the potion vendor and couldn't help the sly smile that spread across her lips.

Then she cocked her head as she realized that she had never seen that shade of red in a Nord's hair ever before.

As if sensing her look, he met her gaze; she blinked and looked away, acting the part of someone who had been lost in thought.

She started to hum an old tune, something from her past. Taking a bite if her Toasted Mressed, she began to stare at the fire. It was a few moments later that Bristar found her meal too quickly ended and stared down at the crumbs that littered the floor around her, she couldn't remember the last time she had eaten so messily. She yawned suddenly, her full stomach was making her sleepy. It had been a while since she had last eaten her 'creation', she had forgotten how filling it was. Deciding that tomorrow she would seek out the Thieves' Guild, she yawned and stumbled up towards her room.

It was the work of a moment to strip off her armor and crawl under the covers, she made sure to tie her coinpurse to her tail, the most sensitive part of her body - a method that had worked multiple times in the past - before she fell asleep. She couldn't shake the feeling that she slept too good for being in a 'den of thieves'.

* * *

><p>The next morning, she rose early and was out by the forge caring for her weapons long before the rest of the town was awake. Bristar had oiled her bow and given it a new string, sharpened her two mismatched daggers and sword, had wrapped the hilts of all three blades with new leather, and even had the time to carve a piece of charcoal into a rather intricate carving of a Khajiit - her signature - all before the blacksmith emerged yawning from his shop.<p>

"Mornin', cat."

She nodded to him and finished the mask on her carving, the last shaving falling to the ground. It actually looked a little like her, if she looked past the hood, cloak, and mask. Sighing, she put it in a pocket inside her knapsack and shrugged off the post she had been leaning against.

"What kinds of armor are you selling?"

The blacksmith looked her up and down with a calculating eye. Wiping the sweat off his hands he stood, he walked towards his shop, she trailed a little bit behind, not sure if she was supposed to follow him.

"You prefer light, missy?"

"Aye."

He disappeared into his shop and reappeared a few moments later, leather armor of a much better quality than what she wore in his hand. Her eyes lit up when she saw it. It was darker than the leathers she was wearing at the moment, and was lacking the annoying 'shoulder guard' - she called it her blinder, the cursed thing was so tall she could barely see over it. He brushed past her and to his forge, where he took a knife and began to cut a hole in the armor, she wondered briefly why before she absently curled her tail around her leg and blushed under her fur. Of course, a hole for her tail.

"How big is your tail? 'Bout this?"

He held his hand up in a circle that was by far too small. She shook her head and used both paws to create how round her tail was. He nodded and worked on the leather armor for a moment before holding it up for her inspection, already finished with the changes.

"Hope it fits, never had to make armor for a Khajiit before in my life."

"How much?" Bristar asked, pawing the leather she now held, it was supple but hard.

"How much do you have?"

"Five hundred septims." She actually had six hundred, but she was leaving herself a bit to live with. He accepted the payment without a grumble and returned to his forge. Fingering the leather, she walked away from the forge and... ran right into a mountain. At least, it felt like a mountain. She dropped her new leathers and windmilled her arms, tail lashing. Bristar had managed to keep her balance, not so for the 'mountain' she had run into. The Nord went sprawling to the right and fell to the ground in a bruising _thud_.

"Khajiit is so sorry," Her accent slipped over her more refined speech when she noticed that it was the potion stall owner that she had run into. "let Khajiit help you up."

She held a paw out to him and, after a moment of hesitation on his part, hauled him to his feet. In that instant, Bristar noticed his extravagant robe he wore. A man like him had to carry a lot of gold on him. She brushed him off, feeling for his coinpurse while raising small puffs of dust from the garments. It took her less than a second to feel and lift his coinpurse from him with two fingers, still mumbling apologies. She slipped the purse into her knapsack while he was still catching his balance. She picked her new armor up and congratulated herself on a job well done; she was about to brush past him when he put a hand on her shoulder.

"You couldn't have gotten all that gold honestly."

Putting a smile on her lips, Bristar whirled, looking at the Nord in a new light. He had to be a thief to make that observation, or a retired guard who specialized in catching pickpockets, who else would make such a declaration?

"Pardon? Are you implying that I-"

He interrupted her with a placating flurry of movement from his hands.

"Oh, no, no. It is just that five hundred septims," He whistled. "that is a lot of gold to throw in one place, for one thing."

Her mind flew back to the time when she used to steal enough gold in a day to buy that house in Whiterun seven times over. Oh, how she had lived then.

She looked him over with a suspicious eye, how would he know how much she had payed if he hadn't been listening in... or had someone else listen in for him, she had been distracted. He might have had a beggar listen in and tell him when a richer visitor bought something. Some kind of spotter, a poor child, someone who owed him something. Or a guard.

"That was your man at the gate, wasn't it?"

"Aye, he got cocky. I told him to tax merchants coming to the city. But he saw you and saw easy money. Nice job spotting him."

She took the compliment without comment and shrugged, not seeing the point of the conversation.

"What is it to you?"

"I need a hand in an..." He hesitated, trying to find the right word to use. "_endeavor_ of mine."

Interest piqued, Bristar crossed her arms over her chest, armor still clutched in paw.

"I'm listening."

"A client of mine wants to put one of the stall runners, Brand-Shei, out of business, for good." He leaned casually against the divider between the Market and the normal street. She joined him and soaked up the slight sunshine that shone through the fog. "I'll create a distraction and you'll steal a necklace from the strongbox Madesi keeps locked under his stall then plant it on Brand-Shei-"

"A reverse pickpocket?" She grunted. "Easy."

"Glad to see you think so, you ready?"

Bristar grunted her response, the stone behind her was just starting to feel welcoming. Reluctantly, she cracked open a eye and looked over at him.

"I never caught your name, and you never caught mine. I'm Bristar."

"Brynjolf."

The name sounded familiar for some reason, though she couldn't place it. She nodded, having learned a long time ago to not shake hands with a thief. Taking the initiative, she walked into the market and went straight to Madesi's stall, pretending to be interested in the trinkets he was selling. When she heard Brynjolf begin his spiel, she laid a paw on a lockpick. Madesi wandered over, clearly not interested, but at least amused. She went into action, slipping behind and unlocking the sliding door was amateurs play. The strongbox required a bit of time. While she was tinkering with it, she couldn't help but dwell on the wonderful mystery of where she had heard the name Brynjolf before.

Absentmindedly, she opened the strongbox and took out the necklace - along with the rest of its contents - she shut everything behind her, resisting the urge to leave her signature behind. Holding the necklace in her right paw, she walked over and nonchalantly joined the small crowd in listening to Brynjolf. Suddenly, it dawned on her. Brynjolf was that guard's brother, she had a letter for him. Pleased with herself now that she had remembered, she easily slipped up to the Dark Elf, Brand-Shei, and placed the necklace into his pocket, making sure to have the chain dangle a bit. Brynjolf finished up his spiel once he saw that she was done. She noticed that no one had bought any of his 'new product'.

"Nice lift, lass. Ever thought of joining the Guild?"

_Every moment since hearing of it._ She thought sarcastically. As it was, she just nodded, trying (and only somewhat succeeding) to play the part of a willing guild initiate.

"We're situated in the Ratway, beneath the city. The Ragged Flagon is our headquarters, find me there and we'll talk business."

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><p><strong>AN:**Really sorry about the lateness, I keep meaning to put them out earlier, but don't - plus I couldn't log on for some strange reason.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

**23rd of Second Seed, 4E 205**

Bristar wiped her blades clean on her leathers as best as she could and sheathed them, creating a rasp that was harsh to her ears. The Ratway was (had been) filled with thugs that barely knew which end of the blade to hold and could not find their way around a good insult to save their life. It was almost sad in a way. Here, she had been nearly killed by a Draugr, a dead thing, and a living being couldn't even touch her. She spat on the unconscious Nord contemptuously, she hated the initiate challenge that all guilds seemed to have for their potential members. It was always a waste of her time, and left her in a foul mood for days after.

An itch on her shoulder around a healing bruise made her muscles jump. Muttering angrily about the end table she had hit on her way out of bed that morning, she reached under her leathers and scratched furiously. While Bristar absently attended her itch, she looked down at her leathers to see if it would require any repairs once this was over. To her delight, it could take a lot of damage, however, the last three thugs had been rough - one had been wielding a battleaxe, for crying out loud - a lucky hit on her other shoulder was going to leave a bruise, she could foresee much itching on her part in the not-so-distant future. At least her fur covered it up.

Bristar shivered now that she wasn't moving and hurried across the room, the Nord behind her groaning as he returned to the land of the living. She slipped through the slightly opened a door and shut it behind her, leaning against it to see make sure he wasn't going to come through. Her blow honestly should have put him out for longer, but these Nords and their thick skulls, kept making her feel like a weakling. She listened for a few moments but heard naught but groans of a headache. The mental image of the huge man sitting and holding his head in his hands brought a smile to her lips.

_Well, _She thought happily as she faced the room she had entered. _he deserved it, I did nay come through with my weapons drawn, he's the one that attacked me._

The room before her was drafty, damp, and dank. Everything that the Khajiit hated about the underground... and sewers, she hated sewers. Loathed them with as much passion as she loved her Toasted Mressed. She especially hated pools in the middle of rooms, well, she did if they stank of unmentionables and were murky with Nine know what. She padded forward silently on the balls of her feet, hearing low voices up ahead. They didn't sound like the rough voices of a hired thug - though she had met some very well spoken thugs before in her eventful life - and they weren't discussing (rather, complaining) about how they weren't allowed in the guild. They were talking about Brynjolf's new recruit.

_Oh, this is good._ Bristar thought with a breathless laugh. She hunkered down just inside of the small archway that made the entry into the... well... it could only be called a sewer, but since Brynjolf had told her to meet him at the 'Ragged Flaggon' then this must be it. She edged as close as she dared to the pool of murky water, and listened. From her vantage point she could see the sign of the... tavern, she could only assume that it was a tavern, it had a bar, a sign that called it the 'Ragged Flaggon' (Ragged indeed) and thieves sitting around drinking and talking. It most definitely looked like where Brynjolf had been describing.

"Bryn, I'm just letting you know," A voice she could recognize as a Breton's conveyed. "Mercer ain't gonna like it. Remember the last ones you brought in."

"How could I forget. This ones different. You should have seen her Delvin, I barely saw her drop the necklace into Brand-Shei's pocket, and I knew it was going to happen."

"You said that about the last one..." The voice called Delvin spoke the last bit as a whisper that brought peals of laughter from all his companions.

"While that may be true, I still hold that this one is different. The lass spotted Merek at the gate, and I think that she might have picked some merchandise from my own pocket."

"It would serve you right," A woman's voice cut in. "to be stolen from by a novice..."

The last of what she angrily muttered was lost to even Bristar's sensitive ears. She listened for a few more moments, striving to capture a knowledge of who was what in the Guild. She assumed that 'Delvin' was a seasoned thief, and that Brynjolf was either the Master of the guild or a second-in-command of some sort. The woman had to be of some importance, why else would she had given her opinion? Unless this guild ran differently than the one back in Cyrodiil. The conversation drifted off, though Brynjolf and Delvin kept talking low enough that she couldn't hear most of it. Snorting in a very unladylike fashion, - she had long ago given up acting as such - she rose and dusted herself off, more from habit than with her short hair a little, Bristar trudged forward and would have continued into the 'tavern' - if it could be called that - had she not been stopped by a giant of a Nord just short of the walkway.

"Where do you think you're going?"

He asked with a voice that growled like a bear's. She blinked a few times, trying to separated the words from growls. While he stood there, probably thinking that she was trying to come up with an excuse, she managed to at least understand the gist of what he meant.

"To the Flaggon."

Bristar had learned - more like had it engrained in her - that shortening the name of a place that she was either in or going to made it seem like she belonged. Though she fooled him for a moment, he saw through her charade in the end, and was also strangely unaffected by the blood splattered across her leathers and arms - she had been able to spare most of the thugs, but some had been too persistent - and remained a stoic mountain of muscle. Seeing that he was as shrewd as he was big, she huffed an angry sigh and crossed her arms about her chest. Though she wasn't even close to being as big as he was, and by her good nature didn't look even remotely cruel, she still cut a striking figure. Of course, she was also puffing up her fur a bit, which added a bit more bulk on her arms.

"I'm Brynjolf's recruit." She growled out, imitating him for humor's sake, she had not had enough in the day, and was hasty to supply a bit of comedy to the serious moment. He harrumphed and looked her up and down before nodding.

"You'll do, go ahead. But, I find you betraying the guild and I'll kill you myself."

With an ease of many years of experience, she kept back any physical reaction from allowing him to see that his threat had made its way through her thick skull. Bristar edged around him, intimidated whether she liked it or not - and who wouldn't be? Sure, she had taken down a dragon, but that was different than a man. Men and mer scared her more than beasts, if only because they could talk.

Padding silently across the walkway, she instantly took stock of who was in the tavern. Brynjolf sat at the bar with a bald, middle aged Breton, possibly Delvin. A blond woman leaned against the wall opposite them, arms across her chest, looking down condescendingly at all in the tavern. It was then that Bristar noticed that Brynjolf had lost the the robe he had been wearing up in the market, and was wearing some kind of leathers that looked very comfortable. She was instantly jealous, here she had just bought some leathers of her own when it looked like, if she joined, she would get her own set, she hoped it was so. Before she could let the jealousy grow, however, Brynjolf spotted her and waved her closer.

"Ah, here she is, come here lass, sit by the bar."

Bristar strode across the tavern, her paw twitching as it tried to lay on her dagger. Curses, if that Breton woman didn't make her want to do something about her smirk, and her entire haughty attitude. Bristar had nothing against thieves that knew that they were good at what they did, even bragging was fine (so long as they could attest to what they were bragging about), but to merely stand there as if expecting some kind of respect... That attitude made her want to slice into something. Delvin was grinning at the Khajiit as if he knew what she was thinking about, she wouldn't doubt it, he looked like an old soul at the art of the shadows. She sat on the stool between the two men, ignoring the woman behind her glaring daggers into her back. Delvin leaned close to her, so close that she could smell the mead on his breath.

"And here I was starting to think you were a phantom. I'm Delvin Mallory, the woman behind you is Vex." Bristar didn't remark on the lack of a last name, after all, she went by her first name (albeit, the shortened version, but she absolutely _refused_ to go by her full first name), and preferred that no one knew her last. "You certainly look the part of a thief. Any accomplishments we should know about?"

Somehow Delvin sounded like the subject was common talk, instead of criminal. She could respect that in a thief, it meant that they were sure of their place - or drunk, she had met some lucid drunks in her colorful life. Her thoughts turned to her more flashy accomplishments, Bristar thought for a moment of telling him about the Empire's Tapestry, but she was instantly repelled, it was a too well known theft for her to reveal herself to be the mind behind the crime. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye and made a noncommittal shrugging motion along with an expression that best described her feeling of 'too many crimes to count'. At least, she hoped that he understood it a bit, man and mer never seemed to quite catch expressions on a Khajiit - one of her human friends often jokingly told her that Khajiit had two expressions, snarling, and not snarling.

"Delvin, you'll scare her away."

The man behind the bar joked, though he looked very serious as he did, Bristar glanced him up and down and judged him to be the Guild lookout, why the Guild needed a lookout was beyond her, the thugs outside would deter most thieves, and the huge Nord would keep away the rest. There would be ones like her, skilled thieves that were skilled with a knife as well, but not very many, most thieves relied on their powers of stealth and misdirection. Delvin mumbled his reply into his tankard, which earned a slight smile from Bristar, who had caught the gist of what he had said.

"Lass. I see that you took care of the hirelings?"

"Aye, most will live, if they take care of themselves. Why couldn't this have been taken care of above ground?"

"To the point." The older thief took another drink from his tankard. "I like her already, Bryn."

Brynjolf muttered something into his own drink that sounded a bit like _if you say_ but it could have been anything. To her great surprise, a tankard was plopped down on the surprisingly clean bar in front of her.

"On the house."

The... bartender? lookout? Whatever he was, he talked to her kindly; he seemed the sort who would take pity on a starving - rather, thirsty - thief. Bristar nodded her thanks enthusiastically and set about emptying her own beverage with gusto. She honestly couldn't remember if she had drank anything all throughout her long and wearying day, and she couldn't remember the last time she had eaten too. Not that her stomach was complaining, it was soldiering on and being very quiet, for a welcome change.

"So, what's your name?" Delvin pried casually. "Can't have Bryn over there calling you lass all the time."

"Bristar." She said around a mouthful of some sort of alcohol, eying Delvin briefly. He looked very calm for talking to a new recruit, and sounded truly unenthusiastic about it. And if any of the conversation she had heard earlier had anything to do with it, then they were sorely pressed for recruits, and hadn't found any skilled ones.

"Nice name, short for anything?"

"Nothing that is of any of your business." She snapped harshly, harsher than she had meant to, but it was his fault for asking.

"Easy, lass, he only asked a question."

"Of course, Bryn-." Saying half his name aloud reminded her of the note she still had secreted away in her knapsack. With a sound of surprise, she set her drink on the bar and rummaged around in her knapsack, finally finding the letter rammed in a book - she had been reading the night before and hadn't been able to find another bookmark without tearing a page out of another book. She took the book out and opened it up, setting it down page first, she held the rumpled page up to Brynjolf triumphantly.

"Sorry about the state of it, I used it for a bookmark. 'Tis a note from Brine, I think he was your brother? He looked like you, but older. I can't be sure, perhaps if I saw you two next to each other."

Bristar could tell that Brynjolf was shutting everything she said out, so she 'shut her trap' - so to speak, - and sat brooding over her empty tankard. She enjoyed the occasional drink, but she always tried to not buy a drink herself, so she bummed off other people instead. She looked to her left at the older thief then to the right at Brynjolf, trying to judge what they were best at.

She still held that Delvin was a sneak, he hunched over his drink secretively, Bristar wondered briefly what interesting things he had seen in his life. But Brynjolf was a bit of a mystery. Bristar was proud of many of the things she could do, but one that she actually liked to use was being able to judge what a thief was best at, there were telltale signs if one knew where to look. But none showed up. Frustrated, she scrunched her nose and stared at him a few more moments, eyes narrowing with every passing second. He spoke as if he were well educated, and stood rather straight backed for a thief, a former noble? Perhaps. She knew the strains of a noble life. A sudden outburst from Brynjolf about the contents of the contents of the letter started her out of her thoughts. A few curses later and Brynjolf turned to her.

"Sorry, lass, this is more important for now, I do have a job for you, just wait a moment. Delvin," The older thief looked up from his second (or was it his third) drink. "we need to talk."

The two went off to a dark corner, probably thinking that she couldn't hear them, and whispered frantically to each other. Brynjolf pointed at the note then waved his hand in the air. While half-listening to Brynjolf and Delvin argue - one never knew what they would learn with eavesdropping - Bristar looked around her and studied the other occupants of the dive*****, giving them more than a short glance.

The Breton woman looked like she might be their infiltrator, she was thin and lithe, perfect for getting in and out without being noticed. The other woman in the tavern - previously overlooked by Bristar because of her hidden position on the balcony overlooking the 'pool' - was wearing Guild armor of a gray color, rather than the blackish color of the other three members. The Khajiit tilted her head to one side and mentally sifted through all the positions that she could fill. Not an infiltrator, not a pickpocket, definitely not an 'acquirer of antiquities' (as it had been called in the last Guild Bristar had called home), and not a keeper. She could be a fence, or a lookout. Or she could just be a thief that wore different armor.

She turned her attention back to the two arguing thieves. A few moments into listening to them argue and she knew that nothing in it actually interested her, it was something about a ruined job and why they sent Brine with those nobles, so with a flick of her ear, she cut their voices off. Bristar was contemplating buying a drink, Nine forbid, when the two came back, Brynjolf a little red faced.

"So, lass, that job I mentioned. It's what will get you in the Guild." She quirked an eyebrow at that, hadn't the job she had done out in the market been enough? Brynjolf saw the look she sent his way and immediately explained. "You impressed me, but our Guild-Master, Mercer, still needs to know that you can do more than just pickpocket."

_Oh, for the love._ Bristar thought to herself, keeping back the urge to roll her eyes (her family would be appalled) she had been hoping that Brynjolf was the Guild Master, though she should have known by the way they had been talking about this 'Mercer' fellow. _Do I look that bad?  
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>She looked down at the leathers she wore and supposed that she might look a bit... peckish. But she didn't just steal from anyone, mostly just from people who could afford it, but she was no priest, and stole to live. Though, with this whole Dragonborn business she might have other things on her mind than food.<p>

"So, I do this job of yours and I'm in?"

"Aye," Brynjolf didn't sound too enthusiastic about it either, which eased her wounded pride a little. "I don't like this type of work, but it must be done. There are a few shopkeepers that owe us some money."

"And I'm to be the collector?" Bristar interrupted, her eyebrow quirking again; she was seriously reevaluating herself. Did she look like a hired thug? That was about all she could think of herself as if she took this job.

"Aye. I don't come up with these jobs, I just relate what the Guild Master tells me."

_Guild Master? 'E sounds like a dictator._ She thought, briefly looking away from Brynjolf when a few thieves broke into raucous laughter. A humorous tale obviously having been told. _They seem happy, at least. Perhaps joining won't be so bad, and I can steal anything without worry.  
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"The details?"

She resigned herself to the insulting job with a deep sigh. Brynjolf looked amused, and she heard Delvin holding back his laughter as best he could.

"You'll be collecting from Keereva at the Bee and Barb, Bersi Honey-Hands at the Pawned Prawn, and Haelga at Haelga's Bunkhouse. It should be easy, but remember, we don't want a killing on our hands, get our money and get out."

"Sounds lovely." Bristar growled. She slammed the tankard she held down on the bar and - beneath the eyes of everyone in the tavern, including Miss Condescending - stalked across the tavern; the walkway, and out the door to the Ratway, slamming it on her way out.

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><p><strong>AN:** **(*)** Tavern

Did anyone here know that a mercer was a dealer in cloth and fabric? I was just browsing along and came upon it, I laughed a little at it.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:** I'm alive! And really sorry about the lateness of this chapter, I think I wrote it two times.

So, am I the only one who thinks that the Companion's questline is too rushed? Probably... But, I'll be spreading it out a bit. and I just realized something. I forgot about the bird statue at the back of the Skyforge.

**Alpenwolf:** I thought I had, must have erased it in editing. And I think it's Dirge you're talking about? Yeah, he would be way more suited for it.

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><p>Chapter Thirteen<p>

**27th of Second Seed, 4E 205**

"Ey, Za'phriel."

Za'phriel looked up from the book in her lap at Eorlund and snapped it shut; the little slip of cloth she used as a bookmark marking her place. Eorlund hefted a shield up and, giving her a kind smile, leaned it against the wall she sat on. The two had become fast friends. Her knowledge on how to smith - she couldn't actually smith, that had been her younger brother's specialty - and the tales he knew of warriors and battles long ago had satisfied them both. She spent most of her day by the Skyforge, watching Eorlund and reading.

For some reason, the Circle hadn't deemed to give her anything to do. She felt that she had more than proved herself to them, her prowess in close combat had been proved nearly daily since her first fight, she sparred as often as she could, usually and Athis or Farkas. Vilkas's twin brother was rather nice, and despite being called icebrain by Aela, Za'phriel had found him rather witty and he knew much of the history of the Companions, which he had been imparting to her after their spars. Athis occasionally joined them; she was unsure what to think of the Dunmer. She enjoyed talking to him, but his voice bothered her, it had a kind of rasp to it that grated her ears.

"Aela's shield," Eorlund's voice snapped her out of her thoughts. She turned her attention back to him right as he tapped the shield solidly, his meaty finger producing a slight thud. "would you mind delivering it for me?"

"Of course," She set the book on the ledge beside her. "anything for a friend."

The beautiful landscape caught her eye for a moment and, for a second, she wondered what Skyrim looked like from a bird's eye view. While she was lost in thoughts of flying, Eorlund turned back to his forge, grabbing some steel that would be a sword before the morning was through. The man lived up to his reputation as the best blacksmith in all Skyrim. His first strike against the lump of shapeless metal broke her from her reverie.

Shaking her head to get thoughts of flying out of it, the Bosmer hefted the shield up and tried to tie it to her quiver strap, but it was most definitely not light, and she couldn't catch the strap used specifically for shields. Deciding that she would just walk around with it, she slipped her left arm through the leather loop and grasped the handle lightly. Now that she had it on her arm, she realized how well made and light it really was.

Swinging the shield to and fro on her arm, she strode down the ramp and jumped over the rocks to her left rather than just walk like a normal person. Za'phriel would have leaped from Skyforge itself, if it wouldn't have startled the few Companions in the yard. It still amazed her that a fall from that height would hurt most humans. She had been raised rather sheltered and was used to the agility and durability of her own race.

She shouted a greeting to Athis and Ria, they were training in the yard together while Vilmar watched on under the roofed platform. Occasionally the older Companion would shout to advice to Ria, much to the frustration of Athis. Za'phriel paused for a moment, one of her feet on the platform, when Athis struck a hard blow and broke through Ria's defenses.

"Back up, Ria," She shouted passionately, not wanting to see the other 'new blood' get bested. "don't let him follow through."

Athis turned and gave her a look of exasperation, this would mark the fifth time she had helped Ria in a fight with another Companion. She couldn't help it, the woman was by far more suited to fighting animals, she needed a lot of work on her close combat with a human or mer.

Ria tried to listen to her, but her footwork needed work as well; she stumbled and gave Athis an opening he hadn't foreseen. With a brilliant flourish, the Dunmer separated Ria from her sword and sent the Imperial on her back. Za'phriel and Vilmar groaned as one. Despite all of their professional advice, despite the clarity of their advice, Ria had still lost. Za'phriel made a note to take Ria away and teach her more than these mock fights were. Athis helped Ria up and the two strode over to the more experienced fighters.

"Just who's side were you on?"

Athis asked her jokingly, even though he had won the fight. The Bosmer flashed a grin and waved her hand at Ria, nearly hitting Vilmar with the shield she was carrying. Luckily the elder Companion was still quick, he ducked to the left and flashed her an amused look. With a slight grin, she clasped arms with Athis in greeting.

"The side of the one who needs help with their combat." She glanced at Ria, the Imperial had a despairing look in her eyes that reminded Za'phriel of herself when she had been at that level in her training. "Set some time away tomorrow and I'll teach you how to get up from a stumble."

"Thank you, Za'phriel." Ria exclaimed, eyes alight with excitement. "I will."

The young woman rushed past the Bosmer and into Jorrvasker, shouting to Telma that she had news. Za'phriel watched her go while listening halfheartedly to a brewing argument between Athis and Vilmar, something about the correct way to follow through when breaking someone's defenses. She wasn't about to interfere, the two could get rather... passionate during their 'conversations'. With a nod in Athis' general direction, she copied Ria and entered Jorrvasker. It took a moment for her eyes to get used to the dimmer light in the huge building. She gave a few curt greetings to the Companions lingering in the main room and hurried to the sleeping quarters, half hoping that Aela wouldn't be in her room.

Za'phriel hadn't actually seen any of the Circle besides Farkas ever since her initiation. Well, that was actually a lie, she had _seen_ Vilkas, mostly when he was talking with his twin - the two were complete opposites personality wise, but they looked cursed similar when apart.

Aela and Skjor were two entirely different people. The Bosmer hadn't caught even a whiff of scent of Aela since her initiation a week ago, and she hadn't even met the Nord named Skjor. But she knew where their quarters were. Ria was a big talker, and had told her so much embellished history of the Companions that it was beginning to give her headaches. She was glad that Farkas was an honest man, otherwise she would run around with tales of men decapitating other men because of a wrongly spoken word floating around in her head. Stories of the current Circle would sometimes slip in during some ancient history or another. So Za'phriel could honestly say she probably knew more about the Circle than she wished.

Za'phriel squeezed past several Companions tramping their way up the steps, using the shield to keep them from jostling her too much. The Companions were all bigger than her, even though she wore heavier armor (not as heavy as armor could be, but as heavy as most elves could stand). She was slowly adapting to being shorter than everyone else, back home she was taller than most.

The quarters were quiet except for Telma's soft humming while she worked. Za'phriel wasn't surprised to be alone, jobs were coming in fast for the Companions, and it seemed like there weren't enough members to fulfill them all, especially since most required more than one person. It was just one more reason why she was mystified that she hadn't been given a job.

Za'phriel's footsteps made barely any sound as she ghosted down the carpeted, wide hallway. The shield was ungainly on her arm the longer she wore it, and she was fast getting tired of it; she much preferred blocking with her hand and a half, so she didn't need a shield. That wasn't to say that she didn't have one, she just didn't like using it. She turned left towards Aela's quarters and nearly ran into the huntress.

She coughed into her hand and purposefully looked away from the woman. The lack of armor that Aela wore still caught her unawares sometimes. She just couldn't understand how armor with such gaps in it could protect adequately, her own was finely crafted leathers with steel inlaid in it.

"Your shield."

"Good, I was about to see if it was repaired."

The Bosmer easily slipped the shield off her arm and handed it to Aela. She looked like she was going out on a hunt, a bag of provisions swung from her waist; the arrows in her quiver were freshly crafted and her sword was newly honed. The woman slipped the shield on her own arm and walked past as if she owned the world. If her attitude were anything to go by, she was the queen of the world.

"Oh, I heard that Farkas was looking for you, something about a job."

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><p><strong>AN:** I did kinda change it around a bit (Okay, a lot), but I'm slowing it down a bit, it just goes by so fast. Sorry about how short it was, but I couldn't write it one more time.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N:  
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**Alpenwolf:** Thanks for the review!

**_Raven R_**: I typically use fully improved Daedric Dagger and a Daedric Sword, but most of the time I just use my Daedric Bow, all enchanted as best I can get them. Fire enchantments usually work on most anything, shock enchantments are okay - I don't use them for personal preference. I also use a _lot_ of poison, like, a ridiculous amount.

**codellmarie:** Thanks for the reviews, they made me smile!

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><p>Chapter Fourteen<p>

_The snowy woods were silent except for her heavy breathing, the animals having already sought and found safety in their burrows, nests and dens. A burning need to get away, any way possible, filled her. An empty scabbard slapped against her with every step, the sword she had stole long gone in her frenzied run. Trees blurred past her, the shadows they cast ominous, each one holding one of_ them_, each one__ telling her that she would be caught. Her breath came in gasps, her bruised throat aching with each inhale and exhale.  
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_As the trees slowly thinned out, a sense of freedom filled her, if she could only get out into the open_ they_ wouldn't be able to follow her. She burst into the open and tears filled her eyes, she was safe. _They_ couldn't reach her now. She still didn't slow, just in case _they_ could. Snow flew up into her eyes from the sudden gust that blew against her._

_The sudden caw of a raven above her snapped her attention off the ground in front of her and up to the sky. It was empty, no dreaded black shapes flapping above her. It frightened her even more than if something had been there. She looked back down at the ground just in time to see the rock lip that she caught her foot on. It sent her flying forward to crash into a tree. She managed to know that she had hurt herself badly before she lost all consciousness.  
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**24th of Second Seed, 4E 205**_  
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Kordyyn flew up in her bed with a cry of fright, clutching her aching head between her hands. The dream had felt so real, as if she had been there. She shuddered with cold and fright and grabbed at the furs that had slipped off her. It wasn't the first that she had had, over the last few months she had dreamed nearly every night of deep, dark places, and even darker faces looming over her. But that dream, she shuddered to think of how real it had felt. Thasi had told her it could be memories reappearing in the form of dreams, but she wasn't sure. They felt more like nightmares.

The Imperial took a few deep breaths to calm her racing heart and lay back again, eyes still wide with fright. To soothe her growing fear, she looked around the room to make sure she was alone - she felt like there was something out there, beyond sight but watching her. There was nothing in the sparsely decorated room save the small nightstand next to her, a candle that had been burning all night sat on it, and her sparse gear huddled in a corner. Satisfied, she cast about on the bed for the knife she had set on the furs.

Her hand fell on the note resting on the bed next to her instead. She crumbled it in her fist before opening it and, smoothing the wrinkles from her constant crushing of it, looked it briefly up and down before shuddering. 'We Know'. Never had she been so frightened by two words before in her life. Kordyyn knew that the note was from the Dark Brotherhood, even without having heard anything about the assassins. She shuddered and rolled over, curling up on her side to stare at the dim light of the single candle. The flame flickered a moment before sputtering out, casting her rented room into moonlight, the dark shapes looked more like monsters than furniture. Wide awake though she felt, it wasn't long before she felt her eyelids began to droop. She was asleep a few moments later, oblivious to the dark shape that suddenly stood over her.

_She was in a large, dark room, that was all that she could see from beyond the three dark, cloaked shapes that had their backs to her. Her stomach ached and she felt weak, the weakest she had ever felt. A sudden commotion from what looked to be the entrance to the room drew the attention of her guards, and her own interest, as small as it was. _

_It was a__ little girl. She looked to be no __older than five, her blond hair was rumpled and brown eyes alight with excitement, life radiating from her every motion. She _came dancing through the dark, a pinprick of light in an otherwise black world, flowers clasped in small hands__

_"Lookie, sister," The girl shoved the flowers under before her eyes. She drank in the sight of them, her first glimpse of green life in a long time. Even in the dark they looked so... alive. As if they had been freshly picked "I picked them for you."_

_It took her a moment to realize that the girl's voice was all wrong, too worldwise, too old. Too adult. She jerked back from the flowers and-_

**1st of Mid Year, 4E 205**_  
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Blearily opening her eyes, Kordyyn blinked and squinted at the blurred ceiling above her. It didn't look like the ceiling she had fallen asleep to. The wood was weathered and windswept, cracking in some places and whole planks missing in others. The inn she had fallen asleep in Her eyes followed the eery design the moonlight slipping through the cracks made. A sudden blinding headache - most likely brought on by restless sleep and whatever had caused the aches that resided in her bones - required her to shut her eyes. She squeezed them and groaned as she sat up, feeling as if she had been tied to the back of a horse.

"Sleep well?"

The unconcerned words from in front of her shocked the sleep from her mind. Kordyyn shot to her feet and stared guardedly at the woman before her. She looked to be in the Dark Brotherhood, black and red armor covered every inch of her skin, the only part of her that Kordyyn could see were her eyes peeping out from above a cowl that hid her well. She looked very comfortable lounging on the top shelf of a dilapidated bookshelf.

"Where am I?"

Kordyyn demanded, crossing her arms over her chest and pawing for her dagger. Belatedly, she realized that it wouldn't do much damage if she didn't know her opponent better. For a moment she shifted her arms around before settling for keeping them crossed; wherever she was, it was cold.

"Does it matter?" The woman's voice had a softness to it that sent shivers down Kordyyn's spine. "You're warm, dry, and still very much alive. Which is more than we can say for poor, old Grelod."

_How does she know about that?_ Was the first thought that raced through her mind (well, that along with the thought that she should kill the woman where she stood... er, sat). _Think, you idiot, half Skyrim knows, it isn't often that someone gets killed in their own orphanage._

"Oh, but don't misunderstand, it was a good kill." Kordyyn thought that the assassin had said that with a little bit of amusement. "The old hag had it coming to her. And you saved a group of urchins, to boot." Kordyyn couldn't help the small bit of pride she felt when the assassin mentioned that she had saved the kids, it was quickly dashed when the woman continued speaking. "Ah, but there is a slight... problem."

Kordyyn remained silent, wondering what exactly this 'problem' was. She hadn't been paid as handsomely as she could have been and for all the citizenship knew, the Brotherhood had murdered Grelod.

"You see, that little Aretino boy was looking for the Dark Brotherhood. For me, and my associates. Grelod the Kind was, by all rights, a Dark Brotherhood contract. A kill that you... stole. A kill you must repay."

"So," Kordyyn drawled. "you want me to murder someone else? Whom, might I ask?"

"Funny you should ask." The Imperial didn't see the humor in the situation, but who knew, the woman was an assassin, she probably had a wicked, twisted, evil sense of humor. "If you turn around you'll see our guests, I've 'collected' the three of them from... that not important. What's important is that you will kill one of them. You see there's a contract out on one of them, and that person can't leave the room alive, but which one? Go ahead and guess. Make your choice, make your kill, I'll sit back, observe... and admire."

With a sinking feeling in her stomach, Kordyyn turned and felt her heart drop. There were three people kneeling behind her, their arms tied behind their backs. She was rather glad that they were wearing execution hoods, otherwise she might have vomited. A a man, a woman, and a Khajiit. Biting back her bile, she took a shaky step forward to stand as close as she dared to the woman.

"Do you deserve to die?"

Her voice was steady despite herself. The woman jerked away from her voice with a sound of surprise before she spoke.

"I-I don't want to." Kordyyn was about to repeat herself when the woman began again, tears wetting the hood she wore, sobs breaking up her speech. "But, I've done some... things, things that I'm not proud of. Please, don't kill me, I don't want to die."

Satisfied that the woman hadn't done anything obvious that she deserved death for, Kordyyn switched her attention to the man to the her left. She stepped around something on the ground to stand in front of him; eying him up and down, she decided that he was a mercenary. He had the 'look' of a mercenary, she didn't know how she knew what a mercenary looked like (it was disconcerting to not know where most of her conclusions came from), but she knew.

"Do you deserve to die?"

His response was somewhat delayed, he had to think about it, thinking about it was good, depending on how long he took. Too long and he was making up a story, too short and he had known that she was going to ask.

"I've been in war... Done some things I shouldn't have. But it was war! I-I," He stopped and started again. "I was young, naive, stuck my head into places I shouldn't have. But I made some enemies, and I know several that would want me dead for the things I know."

Pondering what she had heard from both of the humans, Kordyyn strode over to the Khajiit. While she had seen a lot of racism in her time in Windhelm, and had seen firsthand the cruelties that were acted out in the name of 'Skyrim for the Nords', she couldn't help the cold that slid down her spine when she looked at the Khajiit. Even Thasi frowned down upon the bestial race. She knew that the Khajiit had probably heard everything that had passed between the other captives, and switched her question.

"Would someone pay to have you killed?"

"Hah," The Khajiit's accent tickled her ears with its strange rasp and underlying purr. "you ask me if someone would want me dead? I consider it an insult if I do not have an attempt on my life at least once before breakfast. I have many friends, and many more enemies. I am sure that answers your question."

Kordyyn made up her mind even before the Khajiit finished talking. She had become a very intuitive thinker in her time with Thasi, and had gotten very good at discerning truth from lie; she was even better at telling if someone was a good person who had done some bad things or if they were someone who didn't care about the well being of others and was willing to hurt others for gain. The Khajiit was most definitely the latter. Her dagger slid from its sheath with a slight whisper; as silently as she could, she stepped around the Khajiit and muttered a brief Dunmer prayer for his soul. He died without a sound.

No remorse crept up on her when she turned away and stalked back to the assassin. The assassin clapped her hands twice before holding out her right, a key settled on it.

"The conniving Khajiit, I can see why you chose him."

Kordyyn didn't bother asking if he had been the one, from her ever so brief experience with the woman she could conclude that all the answer she would get would be something about how that was not how the Brotherhood worked. The woman looked down at her other hand before speaking.

"Under a road in the wilderness of Falkreath there is a door. Speak the pass phrase 'Silence, my brother' and you'll enter your new home."

Feeling greatly uninspired by the words, and wishing that she had never spoken to the Aretino boy, she lifted the key from the woman's hand. Her back was stiff with anger at her inability to control her own fate. First with that blasted tree and snow, and these cursed nightmares, then her accursed curiosity, and finally the Brotherhood. She sighed angrily, fisting her hand until she nearly drew blood. She glared at the woman before slipping the key into the keyhole. A click of a lock opening later and she was out into the moonlight.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** I actually awoke feeling 'Well Rested' when Astrid asked me if I slept well :)


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